Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol.ice
Summary: And you're standing there on your own. And you look across the room and you see this girl that you utterly fancy. You just. It's not mental. It's physical. You're just like… wow. Pre-Season 4, NAOMILY. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: How We’d Be, You and Me

Title: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
Author: interpol..ice  
Fandom: Skins – Second Generation  
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
Rating: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight. In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
Disclaimer: Little is mine. Little is mine.  
Author's Notes: The titles for the story and for this chapter were taken from a Say Anything song. I wanted to write something light and funny, something before the Season 4 drama. Not saying that I didn't like the fourth season (I adored it, actually). And besides, this plot bunny hopped out of its hole after season 3 aired. Hope you people enjoy reading it anyway… :)

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

_**by interpol..ice**_

**Chapter 1: How We'd Be**** (You and Me)**

We're at a club again. I don't know why. Folks here at Bristol are pretty keen on getting fucked for no apparent reason at all.

But mature little adults we promised to be, Emily and I try to deviate from all that. Sure, fist and cat fights in freshmen year were fun (and eventful) but I'd rather not see Emily with bruises and scratches on her face. Because that would mean I'd have complementary bruises and scratches as well.

Okay, this is quite a long back-story but I'm going to tell it anyway because it was what I liked to consider a milestone for Ems and I.

= = = * * * = = =

I am a supportive girlfriend. When you fuck with my girl, _you fuck with me_.

And no, Katie wasn't happy at all when I joined in on that TGIF brawl. By the time Emily was trying to pry me off of her sister, Katie's pedicure and my face were practically best mates.

After I felt Katie's nail digging into my fucking cheek, I lost whatever control I had of my fist as it swung and hit her dangerously near her nine-stitch wound.

Katie's eyes rolled themselves to the back of her head. And fuck yes, it was as if she fainted in slow motion. At least... she did for me, because time sort of warps for a person when they know something bloody fucking horrible is about to happen to them.

To start off, it was a fight between twins. And everyone knows that you shouldn't get involved in a misunderstanding such as that if you have even just a single chromosome difference in genetic makeup.

Twins. They're supposed to settle their shit on their own.

But fuck, who would've guessed that little old me, so in love with the younger twin, would forget this unspoken rule of the universe? Effy could've at least reminded me before I practically charged my furious ass at Katie's pretty face (I only say that because she looks like Emily. So I can never tell Katie that she looks like shite since that would be a secondhand insult to my girlfriend. Can you see how complicated it is when the love of your life and your arch-nemesis are twins?! You do? Then, fucktastic! Welcome to the club.)

If I had known that I'd get Emily royally pissed off that day, I would've rather gone to another tuition fee protest instead. Even if the weather was shit that morning. Even if it was to start at an unthinkable hour considering I was so bloody hung over from the night before.

Yes, anything was better than having Emily mad at me.

* * *

Come Sunday night I was back at the all-familiar Fitch porch, dejected head against the outside of her front door.

"I was trying to defend your honor," I said lamely, expecting her hand to shoot out of the cat-flap at any second. And of course, I couldn't believe I just said 'defend your honor' after which I mouthed a quick 'fuck' at myself.

"You were _trying to kill my sister_," she corrected. I could hear her sniffing on the other side of the door. I wanted so badly to just get in there and hold her. I had to get to her. I had to see it through.

Then I heard Mrs. Fitch through the door, being a perfect Spanish Inquisitor.

"Emily, love, what are you up to this late? Are you crying? What happened?"

Emily told her mother that she was feeding a stray three-legged cat (_Oh mum, I feel so sorry for it. It doesn't deserve to be stoned to death!_).

Of course, Emily, it made perfect sense that you were talking to a three-legged cat that was occasionally thrown rocks at since you're near the cat-flap and all.

Yeah, that's what she said. It was such a bullshit story that I loved her even more because... well, she obviously couldn't think straight without me.

In her mum's mind, Emily's shit story made perfect sense so I hear Mrs. Fitch's footsteps fade away.

After that, there was ominous silence. There was no hand coming out of the cat-flap. Emily confirmed my suspicions a few minutes later, when she told me to go home.

* * *

I had a nice sob-fest with mum that night. It made me feel better. I know, unbelievable right?

And I knew that she knew it was about Emily. And it felt nice, that mum wasn't being condescending and shit. She took out her secret stash of Cadbury flakes and made me hot milk. She even went as far as promising to buy me a gateau first thing in the morning.

She didn't tell me to 'forget about her.' Because, some point along the way, mum figures out that Emily means too much for me to do just that.

* * *

Emily and I had make-up sex in one of the janitor closets the next morning, before classes started. It was in that tiny, enclosed room where I fucked her senseless and eventually, into a very, _very_ forgiving mood. And that proved to be very difficult actually, with all the buckets and brooms we knocked over. But an intense desperation to save our relationship drove me to unsettling heights of horniness.

So I hoisted her up a knee-high cabinet, seated her on top of it. Got her smirking at my new found strength. I undid her trousers and when I had a hard time taking them off, I shot her a mock-accusatory look that said, 'You should've worn a skirt.'

"How was I supposed to know you were going to jump me before first bell?" she reasoned hotly.

I gave her mouth a quick peck, because really, I was being a twat. And thankfully, that calmed her down.

Then I had to help her out of those trousers. Some awkward shimmying, giggling and pulling later, I reached the part where I had to pull down Emily's knickers.

I just knew that I had to give her the most mind-fucking shag in the history of lesbian sex. And yes, I was going to do it in a supply closet with ironically no supply of huge strap-ons, brogues or anything else of the lesbian-sex-fantasy nature.

Once I was inside of her, I thought of familiar places. Like the politics section of the library, mum's favorite vegan diner, the park outside of my house, my own room and finally... here, inside Emily's velvety warmth. That got my hand off like a sprinter after gunshot. I had to rest my other hand against the wall behind Emily; Feeling for my pace. Then there she was… her breath hitching in succession, in an unmistakable rhythm that told me I was hitting her in _exactly_ the right spot. I couldn't believe how my fingers were pumping _that_ fast in and out of her. I felt like a demonic succubus.

I was un-fucking-stoppable.

I slowed down a bit, until she was groaning that she wanted more, her mouth parted, eyes screwed shut. I took my free hand off the wall and gently held her by the neck. Then I pulled her closer gently, made her look at me.

I remember wishing I hadn't because after getting lost in those chocolate pools, my ability to form a decent sentence seemed to have abandoned ship as well. I wanted to say something fitting. But at that moment, all I could think of was anything but.

So I fisted her faster and harder, and with more frustration with myself than ever. Really, why couldn't I say anything? Not a fucking thing. The increased frequency and amplitude made her throw her head back, popping her chest out. The whole movement, unconsciously inviting me in. I couldn't help it. I fucking _buried _my face between her tits, sobbing 'sorry' a million times over, had my words intimately muffled by her cleavage and the surprising sweetness of her early-morning sweat.

There I was, loving every bit of it. The way Emily's hands ran through my hair, grabbing fistfuls while resisting the urge to pull with all her might whenever my digits dug in and hit her where she wanted. Her fringe turned a nice hue of copper red in the dim light, wet against her forehead, matching her flushed cheeks. The sight left me deliriously smug.

As I listened to her, I couldn't help but think about my name spelled backwards. While she came, her back arching wildly against my arm that steadied her, she finally graced me with her first smile in _ages_ (okay, those three horrible, Emily-deprived days seemed to take a sodding eternity to end).

It was moments like that which made you realize how much you needed something. How much you needed _someone_.

Emily was trying to control her breathing while she brushed my fringe to the side, taking some of my blonde bangs and tucked them behind my ear. She trailed the tips of her fingers along my jaw-line until they reached my chin, from where she tipped my head up to look at her.

I held my breath.

Emily's looking back at me, down at me, sucking her lips in like she was trying to keep herself from crying. She licked at them, and they break into another smile.

And it was so fucking beautiful that I realized that I was already crying long before she did. The relief that crashed over me was overwhelming.

I held my breath. But she stole it anyway.

Emily Fitch still loved me.

She swooped down, smelling like happiness on a particularly excellent day. Flowers and fruits. Wine and sunshine. Earthy, woody, spicy and smoky warm.

Right off the bat, I knew that this was the scent I'd love my sheets to smell like forever. Waking up, making love, sleeping, being engulfed in this... Emily's scent.

She slowly pressed her lips against my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut in instinct, finding myself _relishing_ her softness, her uncontested affection.

I couldn't imagine going on without Emily in my life.

* * *

Why we thought straight all day was a mystery to us. But we breezed by classes, functioning adequately. I invited her over to my house after school. Because I did recall mum mentioning there'd be a gateau.

* * *

There was _no fucking gateau_.

And if you think we proceeded to have sex after finding that out, you are wrong. Remember we promised to be mature individuals? Well, Emily thought it'd be a pretty nice start if we controlled our random shagging urges.

So we watched a Gossip Girl dvd instead. I never bothered with it before, but it appears that Katie got Ems hooked on this silly American program. Now Emily thinks Waldsen is absolutely brill. I couldn't say no to that kind of enthusiasm. It would be like denying Pandora a game of Twister.

After seeing Serena pinning Blair down on the grass like they were going to either snog or shag right then and there (with the latter looking to be more probable), I instantly forgot about one particular gateau. Or rather, the lack of it apparently.

"Shit. They look like they're going to shag," I stated in a happy surprise, secretly turned on by their hiked-up skirts and all those Yankee legs.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she answered, probably expected the reaction from me, her eyes still glued to the telly... for good reason.

Just so you know... Half six, we shagged again anyway.

Imagine my surprise when mum walked in on us, carrying a scrumptious-looking gateau(Black Forest, a fucking classic).

As if she were completely undisturbed by the fact that there were two half-naked girls in a compromising position nestled awkwardly on her couch, mum said, in a bright manner, "Thank God you two have made up." Then she turned to Ems and said, "Emily, stay for dinner," in the sweetest way possible.

Later, while we were straightening each other's shirts, fixing each other's hair, generally making ourselves decent for supper, we could hear mum's voice booming from the kitchen, "Girls? Girls, you have _got to_ taste this _gateau_."

What can I say? Mum liked her homophones.

* * *

= = = * * * = = =

Well, _that_ was the very important back-story as to why Ems and I have been very sensible nowadays. And since then, we've kept our word, you know? Taking this 'Operation Maturosity' shit seriously. Less alcohol, less drugs, less partying. But don't think that Ems and I have plans on turning ourselves to the nuns.

We still have mind-blowing-sex on a regular basis. Only after we get our coursework done, though.

And honestly, it's doing wonders for college. We haven't gotten anything lower than a B+ lately. Which means Ems' clever idea is actually paying off. Emily's just brilliant like that.

I know right? I'm such a lucky wanker.

* * *

A/N: I'd be great to know what you guys think. Drop me some comments… :)


	2. Chapter 2: Swim or Die Without

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**: This time the title's from Tegan and Sara. I love them because they're gay twins!! And they have something in common with our little muff monkey!! :D That and they make amazeeeeng music. And to everyone who reviewed before, I'd like to give you a big 'THANK YOU!' Hope you like this too. :)

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

_**by interpol..ice**_

**Chapter 2: Swim or Die Without**

**

* * *

**

So anyway, back to the present. We're at this club, right? And it's so wanking ridiculous because anywhere my eyesight falls people are wearing track suits. Left, right and fucking center. _Track suits_. So what, is this the required dress code or something? If you haven't got a track suit are you fucked or what?

Emily actually tried to explain this all to me... Why we were here and everything, trying to get so shit-faced we won't even remember it the next day.

You might not have heard of it, but I fucking swear Emily has these crazy manipulative skills. In the first place, I wouldn't have been here if it weren't for Ems. She can get me to do _anything_.

* * *

One minute we're sitting there normally, playing with our hands like innocent little children in primary school, our textbooks and modules forgotten beneath them. Then I asked her why we've got to go to this party because it sounds like a breeding ground for all sorts of immaturity.

And the next second, her petite figure is on top of me, straddling me by the waist. Feisty little thing she is, don't you think? Emily has this knack of doing completely random things while we're supposed to be _concentrating_ on keeping ourselves _vertical._

There goes Emily's book on Indian Literature, whacking my Econ notebook in its imaginary notebook shin, pinning it, rendering it helpless.

Do you spot the symbolism here?

"It's because Cook has a friend…"

She started with that tone. You know, the tone she gets when she shoots herself with a STUN-gun (as she so fondly puts it). The tone that hints the start of a JJ-like lock-on. Only milder. And cuter. **Hotter**.

Okay, piece of trivia: On occasion, whenever Emily has a big term paper to write, she pops in one of those STUN pills. Helps her be more honest and opinionated. With that insecurity filter off, she grows a pair of balls, writes what she wants to, without inhibitions and stuff. She types away happier that way.

So now you know why she has so much to say about the _Bhagavad Gita_.

"—who's going to this insane party—"

And when things got cut like that alternatively, you know the kissing and the talking, I prepped up my multi-tasking skills, programming myself to kiss her other available body parts (since her mouth was preoccupied, wanting to do an epic speech instead ) all while having a normal conversation at the same time.

"Uh-huh," I replied, assuring her my attention.

"—with lots of free booze, drugs and — fuck! That feels good."

Dirty hand of mine, feeling her up in a way that would make Cook ashamed of himself. How did it even get there? Naughty. Naughty.

I smirked against her neck.

"Music rumored to be performed by topless women—"

I paused. And I pushed her away from me a bit to get a good look at her, studying her face for any sign of 'just fucking with you'. I mean, she took STUN, she's not supposed to be capable of lying.

"You shit-serious, Ems? Topless women?" I asked, impossibly incredulous.

"No, you twat," she giggled, "I just wanted to know if you were paying attention. And surprisingly, you were. Have I told you how marvelous you are?" She bended down to kiss me. Emily tasted wonderful, skittle-sweet.

"Yes, you have. All the time, actually," my lips said on hers.

I pulled away a bit, looked deep into her warm eyes and asked her, in a very small and scared voice, because I knew that the answer to this gauged what kind of girlfriend I was being… If I was any good.

"Have I told you that I love you?"

Coming from me, it just sounded so stupid. It's just that... I never knew if I said it enough. Because Emily's the type who needs to _hear_ things.

She looked at me fondly, considering the question for a bit, probably wording an eloquent answer in her head, taking out the big boys of her vocabulary. I must say, I expected a unique answer that'd tug heartstrings.

Emily started pushing stray locks of hair off my face, tucked them behind my ear. Her fingers traced my cheek and my eyes fluttered shut at the slight pressure. Being temporarily blind, my hearing sharpened and I listened hard as she said,

"Yes, you have. All the time, actually."

And she couldn't have said it better.

"Jinx," I teased, "You owe me a kiss."

She then bit her lip, trying not to smile. She loved it when I was being unbelievably cheesy. People aren't used to it. People will never get to see it. This side of me, she basks in the fact that she's the only one who is acquainted with it.

Emily swooped down until the edges of her red hair were tickling my chest. She gave me a chaste, childish peck. I went dizzy for a bit after that. It's surprising how much I adored Emily. How much the simplest of her gestures was still able to catch me off-guard.

She pulled back and resumed telling her tale. Yes, I should've gotten exasperated at that. But patience got me shagged. So... I had to behave.

"It's just the usual mindfuckery. Means that Cook _absolutelyhastobe_ there."

"So why do we get dragged along?" I asked, finding the way that Cook managed to invite his crayola dick into every subject of conversation very annoying, especially when it becomes an obstacle to a very satisfactory snog session (not that Emily wasn't being satisfactory enough). It's just that I didn't want things like 'Cook' coming out of her mouth when it was supposed to be kissing the hell out of mine.

"And this friend Cook has? He's supposed to be in love with her..."

I wasn't even sure if I was still following or not. But she just kept at it.

"I know. It's bloody ridiculous, right? Cook? In fucking love?" she snickered, her tone hysterically bemused.

When I came to think of it, it did in fact, sound strange. It was so odd, hearing 'Cook' and 'love' in the same sentence.

"Yeah, it's totally absurd," I agreed, trying to ignore my nagging pangs of desire.

"This morning he found out that it's a Johnny White party. So basically, he's fucked. He's going to lose the girl of his dreams if he can't get his ass to that party. So he rings the lot of us so we can help with keeping him a low profile... because we're decent mates and all... and we get insanely pissed in the process... which is always fun."

I smiled at her, knowingly. Emily was always up for... well, hooking people up. One time she told me this story where she drew these childish looking cards so that she could set up her neighbors into meeting each other and falling hopelessly in love. It's what Ems knows best, I guess.

"Something tells me this is going to be—"

"Eventful" she finished for me.

"Eventful." I echoed, pressing my lips to hers. I tried to kiss the lights out of her, see if she'd stop talking and just snog me properly already.

And that she did people. That she did _well_.

* * *

= = = ** **EFFY** ** = = =

I am alone. I am alone in this scene, in this spaceless space where I have to dance to fit in. I can't just _be_. The people around me won't let me.

And this is what it's been like for the past four months since I disappeared to Italy last summer. Frequenting every party, every club I had the time to go to. An excuse to just... lose it.

It's nothing like when I was in Italy. The change of scenery gave me my sanity back. Besides the sight-seeing (the Italian countryside is remarkable, by the way), Italy gave me a taste of the kind of life I wanted in the future. Smoking a whole pack of fags while enjoying a cup of coffee at a streetside café. Long lunches under the merry Mediterranean sun, a bottle of Italian wine all to myself. I was so free... but alone nonetheless.

It is during these sit-still moments where I get the majority of my thinking done. Thinking about my parents, their splitting up. About Tony, how I never get to see him anymore. About the shit mess I made in Bristol.

Clearly, there was a lot to think about.

_They're all fucking mad._

Been thinking of Freddie mostly. Freddie Fucking McClair.

I may have or may have not considered the possibility of me being in love with him. But every time I'm on the brink of deciding I stop thinking altogether.

Love. Freddie. And then stop.

I do realize the gravity of my situation. It could make all the apples hooked to a single tree fall in a second.

I came back with a hope to sort things. To feel less heavy.

* * *

I like to sift through the crowd and watch people, you know. The corners of my eyes are spies. It's a hobby of mine or something, I've been keeping a record on everyone. They all have a secret profile in my mind. This is how I know things. This is how I can tell the fucking future.

Because we're all chemicals, with our special, uniquely screwed-up properties. You mix one of us with the other, the combined pair then proceed to a predictable set of reactions.

Almost lost in my thoughts again, I spot red hair, an unmistakable shade. It's Emily.

But it's not just Emily. It's never _just_ Emily. Because, these days, Emily is never without the other. If you think this isn't true... I really can't think of an instance where I've seen either one of them alone. Ginger and peroxide blonde. _Always_ ginger and peroxide blonde.

They don't go out as much as they used to. And I laugh to myself. They've obviously drifted off into this couple's coma. This is how I know they're spending way too much time in bed. It seems like, besides getting up for college, they struggle with the idea of venturing off beyond the 5-metre radius around their bed.

Emily sees me, she smiles at me. A small, polite smile. Yeah, that's all I get after what I've done to her twin. Naomi sees me too, flashes me a big grin, the likes of which I have never seen before. Fuck.

Emily, Emily's responsible for this.

"Emily, it's Eff." I can see Naomi's mouth say and she tugs on Emily to keep her from moving any further. Naomi appears to be really glad to see me.

Emily's lips tighten into a wider, more forced smile. "All right, Effy?" she manages.

I nod and say, "All right, Emily?" in kind. Before Naomi can say anything though, Emily taps her shoulder to say something. I read Emily's lips, "Let's go dance" she tells Naomi.

Naomi's eyebrows furrow slightly at Emily for a second. She's obviously confused. The smaller girl looks back at her meaningfully, sending Naomi telepathic 'come hither' messages.

And of course it works like a charm, like _Open Sesame_. See, in danger of looking unforgivably idiotic, Naomi's trying her bloody hardest to not break into possibly the biggest smile ever. But she does anyway, you know, break into the biggest, craziest, happiest smile ever.

My stomach drops. Oh shit. Is this what it is, then? Love, in the flesh?

Exhibit A: Emily and Naomi.

They're perfect, really. Too fucking adorable it almost makes me ache.

Just before Emily guides her deeper into the mass of bodies, Naomi turns around. She catches my eye and she shrugs her shoulders apologetically.

Again, I am alone. Rightfully so.

We're all chemicals. But those two, when they mixed, they remind me of those irreversible reactions that teachers always used to mention in Chemistry.

When you fit that well together with someone else, there's just no going back. You just know those people are never going to be the same.

Naomi is given a final pull forward, disappearing from my field of vision completely.

There's just no going back.

* * *

Freddie, taking his new role of supportive-brother-prodigal-son-will-become-perfect-man-soon seriously, thinks it's absolutely supportive-brother-prodigal-son-will-become-perfect-man-soon-_ish_ of him to go watch Karen compete in another x-rated and horrendously vulgar reality show.

In effect, that pissed Cook off, and a pissed off Cook pissed his date off as well. Melissa. Yes, I'm sure that's her name. She left him after a very rude argument involving accusations against Cook for being gay for Freddie and him telling her to 'just fuck the hell off'.

Well, anyway, Cook isn't taking it so well, he's backtracking for being an ass to her. Which means he hasn't banged her yet. Cook only lets girls go once he's gone all the way with them. So it's some sort of huge loss for him. I don't know why he even fancies her at all, she had a pirate's treasure. You know? A sunken chest.

Geeze, excuse me for having a strange sense of humor, but it's true. You couldn't find tits on the girl even if you tried using tit-detectors and everything.

Now the poor bastard is getting himself in all sorts of trouble.

"Christ, Cook! You worthless shit!" Katie screams in horror, whacking Cook in the head with her purse. Cook's so fucked and pissed, he doesn't even flinch.

The pillock threw up on Katie's dress. One day, when Katie forgives me for smashing her skull, I'll tell her, "Seriously, Katie. You should stop with the leopard print. It makes people dizzy and confused."

Until then, I have to be on the lookout for any prospective chance of redemption.

"Fuck's sake, Cook! Get back here, you massive tosser!" she shouts. Useless really, because Cook starts to swagger away, losing himself in the sea of jumping bodies. Who in their right, drunken stupor of a mind, would stay around for the full-on force of Fitch fury? Well, apparently, not Cook. Sometimes, he's sensible that way.

Katie is permanently rooted to the spot. She looks down at her top. I can't blame her for suddenly wanting to gag. The sight makes me want to heave as well. Looks like Cook had pickled eggs for dinner.

"Fuck." she says.

"Fuck." she says _again_. With a more pissed-off emphasis.

And I watch on. Fucking enjoying myself, thank you very much, experiencing a little deja-vu from witnessing the other Fitch twin doing the same thing in the same club about a year ago.

Only, if I recall it right, Emily went, "Shit. **Shit**."

Which proves Katie's the more polite of the two. Points for sarcasm, Stonem.

Katie spots me in the crowd. I can tell, by the torn expression on her face, that ginger is wondering if she should ask for help from the first person in the crowd that she recognizes… Who so happens to be me. Boo for her.

I feel guilty again remembering that night in the woods. I then decide that my assistance shouldn't be asked for, but offered.

So like... what I meant was... Fuck it.

"Need a hand there, Katie?" I hear myself say. It's bizarre. Totally bizarre. It's been roughly a year since we've last been this civil.

"What does it look like, bitch? I don't need help. I need a shirt. Keep your ugly-arsed konk out of my business. Now sod off!"

I know that wearing a one-piece dress isn't going to help the ungrateful twat at all. And I know that my nose is perfect, so there is no point in getting hurt by these extremely untrue insults. But I have to help her to clear my conscience.

"Here, let's get you to the loo. It's your lucky day, I'm feeling a bit of a good Samaritan. Why don't we fix you the hell up, yeah?" I say, grabbing Katie by the wrist.

And to my surprise, Katie unwillingly lets herself be dragged to the ladies room by me, the loony girl who bashed her head open.

Fuck it.

* * *

"It smells!" Katie whines like it isn't obvious.

She's sitting on top of the sink counter, pulling her top close to her face to get a good look (and smell) at it.

We washed the puke off of her top, now it's all wet and soggy. And remarkably horrible smelling, may I add. She refuses to go out there again ("Not the fuck in this!"). Possibly in fear of being banned from the social scene for the next two years.

"I can smell it from here. You don't have to go shoving it under my nose."

She starts ignoring me. And an awkward silence begins. The kind that makes you want to go and write an epitaph for your own grave so you could just go and die already.

If you watch closely, you would notice the ladies room shaking. You might directly credit that to a Lady Gaga mix (Stop calling, stop calling, I don't wanna think anymore!) blasting out of the club's gigantic speakers. But I like to think it was because Katie hated me so much that she just triggered her lady-Hulk powers (Panda's ridiculous idea that I will shamefully use as an excuse as to why I'm thinking the way I am right now) thus the appearance of the room vibrating.

I fish my pack of fags from out of my purse. I reward myself one, you know, for being extra, unnecessarily nice.

After lighting up, I catch Katie staring at me in a way that she shouldn't have. She averts her gaze, suddenly finding a bottle of hand-soap more interesting.

Playing with the idea a bit, considering Katie doesn't smoke, I take one out for her.

"Wait here, I'm going to look for Emily." I say, pushing myself off the toilet stall I was leaning against. I shove a fresh fag into her line of sight.

My hand containing the fag rises slowly, not meaning to guide Katie who's following the ascent with a curious glint in her eyes. She's looking at it with such an interest. "Finally, an idea," she chimes sarcastically, accepting the peace offering and holding the cigarette thoughtfully in her hands.

"Shut it, Katie. Your desperation's talking."

She bites back what probably was another smart-ass remark. I don't know if I should feel good about it, though. When it comes to being a bitch, Katie and I are neck and neck. But I'm supposed to help her feel better for fuck's sake.

I make my way outside, determined to find this girl's twin soul. Like, seriously.

"Good luck."

"What?" I ask quizzically, a foot already out the door.

I turn back to face her and she motions for something. For the lighter, I realize a few moments after.

She catches the lighter, clicks it open. A small spark and then the smoke starts.

"Good luck," the smoke tells me.

It could've been mysterious and sexy and all if Katie didn't have a really bad coughing fit three seconds later. That girl doesn't know shit about fags.

She recovers, clears her throat, and explains, "You need it, you know. When you pry her out of Naomi's possessive hands."

Yeah, separating the lovebirds... How exactly do I do that?

Right, I don't have a fucking clue either.

* * *

**A/N:** If you want to say anything, let me know. I'd like you dear readers to give out honest opinions like JJ on lock-on! Be kind, drop me a comment :)

**Next Chap:** Fitch TWINteraction! Effy tries to saves the day! And finally, Naomi and different scenarios of the infamous **FITCH SWITCH!**


	3. Chapter 3: Try Me On To See If I Fit

**Title:** Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author:** interpol..ice  
**Fandom:** Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing:** Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating:** T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary:** Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes:** This chap's title is inspired by Incubus and an utterly pretty song of theirs, "Southern Girl".

Naomi takes hold of the special narrator reins again. You'll see things unfolding in this chapter through her eyes. There's a lot to look out for. :)

Heads-up, she's a bit flashback-heavy (sentimental much?) here so I hope you guys don't get confused when she pulls a 'Back to the Future' on you during certain parts of the story. And there are some things that I promised in Chapter 2 that I won't be able to get in here. Don't worry though, it means that this story is going to be longer than I originally intended it to be. You pretty much get to see them in later chapters. So sit tight! ;)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm keeping your two cents in an ultra-special sheepy bank! Yay! That being said (wow, this is a very long author's note), I really want for you guys to enjoy while reading this!

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**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

**by interpol..ice**

**Chapter 3: Try Me On To See If I Fit**

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"Take your sweater off."

The suggestion, I convince myself, came out of concern, not curiosity. She's sweating in that jumper in a rather sexy-sweating way, mind you. I'm totally not dying to find out what kind of top she is wearing underneath. I'm totally not dying to use dancing and poor lightning as an excuse to run my hands all over her… in the blind eye of the current public.

And Emily doesn't stop dancing, doesn't stop looking so fuckable. She replies, voice raspier than ever, "I'm fine, I don't have to."

"Fucking hot in here Ems, sure about that?" I try to reason, fingers toying with the hem of her sweater.

Well, fuck me if it isn't the softest thing in the universe.

It's her favorite navy blue Pringle cashmere sweater. Cabled V-neck, ribbed at the collar, the end of the sleeves and the hem. Fuck's sake, it sounds like I sell these things for a living. But you get the picture, right? Basically, they're these preppy little things that make people look stuck-up. Curious as to why Emily has one then?

It's because of Thomas, really.

* * *

It was an admirable and perilous quest I was on. To find the perfect gift for Emily. Her birthday was in three days and I haven't gotten her a present yet. Even more of a problem, she hasn't asked for anything in particular. She never mentioned that she wanted this or that she wanted that. Not even a subtle hint or something I could work with at least. Which was making this whole gift complication a lot more complicated because... really, that just about narrowed the choices down _brilliantly_.

Coming out of the fifth store I tried, I bumped into Thomas. Well, not literally ('cause that would've hurt, he sure was a bony bloke) but you got the point. He told me right away that he went out for a jog and now he was heading over to Panda's. He held up a box, "Doughnuts," he said.

"Take one," Thomas offered. He opened the box and the delightful aroma of freshly baked donuts wafted in the air of Bristol morning. "Please, Panda wouldn't mind."

I reached into the box, picking out one with blue frosting and yellow squiggles on it. "Why, thank you," I said before taking an eager bite.

We chatted for a good while. Partly because he was surprisingly a substantial person to talk to and partly because I thought those doughnuts of his were right tasty. I was happily munching away on my second one. It was pink with candy sprinkles this time.

Jesus, these donuts were comical-looking.

We were talking about Panda's latest hobby (salsa lessons with Doug) when we stopped. At a bus-stop, I realized a little after. I was about to ask him why but he filled me in on that impeccably. Like he read my mind or something.

"This place, if I'm not mistaken, is quite memorable."

I looked around, not really noticing anything special or what. "Yeah... Thomas? How exactly is this place interesting?" I asked.

"It involves Emily."

The moment he said her name the place was instantly interesting for me as well.

"Found her here one night. She had no shoes. Not even a jacket. She was shivering so much."

Oh, _that_ night.

I did remember that I haven't given back Emily's (Technically, they were Katie's) purple heels. I made a mental note to myself. _Return K. Fitch's brogues_. Before Katie realized that they were missing and all.

With that said, I wanted it known how much hearing all this from him was making me feel incredibly guilty and... absolutely rubbish. It got a little harder to swallow the donut pulp I was just chewing.

"I don't know what happened to her before I got to her... She just told me she couldn't find her shoes. So I gave her mine. And also one of the three jackets I was wearing that night. See, England is an exceedingly cold place." He breathed through his fists, unconsciously proving his point. "Very cold," he reiterated.

My jaw, I could feel, was tensing up. "Wow. That's incredibly nice of you, Thomas," I croaked out.

"She should never be alone on a cold night," he said solemnly, his eyes trained on a man across the street. I thought I recognized him too; probably from an Environmentalist group or something. Nice. He was walking his old Dalmatian. I remembered the Disney movie immediately. I wondered... what if Emily wanted a puppy?

Thomas pulled me out of that train of thought. He turned to me, and with a grave voice he said, "Emily's a lovely girl. I'm sure you would've done the same."

Right. I would have. Save for the part that I was the reason she was there in the first place. Alone and cold. I pictured Emily, scantily clad on this street, in the dead of night, barefoot. I pictured her crying, her mascara making two glaringly obvious stains on either cheek.

Yes, my fault. Jesus, what a way of telling me that I had a lot to make up for. I got it now. This was karma on my doorstep. This was karma inviting itself to a three-course dinner. What goes around comes around.

Fucking cosmic implosions.

A bus pulled up in front of the stop. I felt the offensive heat of its exhaust. "This is my ride," he told me as he got up.

I thanked him for the chitchat and the donuts. And I secretly thanked him for his story. I would never have known how horrible a state I'd left Emily in if he hadn't told me.

God bless this African boy's soul.

He took a window-seat, with an open window (no, that's not redundant _at all_). I called out his name and once I got his attention, I gave him a little wave goodbye.

It surprised me when he stuck his head out of the window. His face was kind when he said to me, "You are very lucky, Naomi."

The bus gradually picked up speed until it got smaller and smaller from where I was sitting. I waited for it to turn the corner before I stood up.

For a quick moment, I closed my eyes and breathed in for luck. One. Two. Three. Then all the negativity in my system was exhaled out. I was feeling better already. Because now I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to get her.

Thomas. He was awfully right about everything.

* * *

Now I've told you the story. Now you know. That this sweater... it stands for a promise. Never again would she be alone. Never again would she be cold. Most of all, never again would she be those two things at the same time.

So that's it. What I got her for their birthday (I gave Katie something 'nice' as well). It's probably the cheesiest present you could ever give your girlfriend, but what the hell. Ems likes her cheese.

Cost me an arm and a leg too. But expensive as it was, I do admit, the benefits have already exceeded the costs. I'm really glad I got it for her because Emily has gotten _mad_ attached to it. I mean, she'll wear it any chance she gets. And when I say any chance, I mean _any chance_.

Since then, Emily has probably thought of thirty-two excuses to wear it in warm weather. Twenty-five she's probably voiced out, only fifteen of which I have given my consent (A great thing about being her girlfriend is that she respects my approval rights).

She puts it on after we make love on some nights. On those occasions, she doesn't have to ask me at all. Because really, I don't have the heart to say 'no' after she's gone down on me _multiple times_. I just couldn't.

* * *

She threw the covers off of her, wriggling herself out of my loose hold. Emily was up and about fast, looking for something on the floor. It made my mouth go dry and it made me wet down under, the way she circled my room with that feline grace of hers.

_She's a girl._

Just like that, a spotlight made that one truth halt in its tracks. Just like that, that one truth stood out from the rest of my thoughts. And its presence was so strong and offended... most of all, it was loud. It needed to be heard, it needed to be known.

It was a common occurrence, you know, thinking about it.

The morning after we first made love, I woke up and the sunlight crept over her features, doing an ace job of turning Emily into an unreal vision. Her hair was wild and when the sun had hit it, it glowed like a soft fire. She looked like a lovely lion. Her chest——no, _her breasts_, her breasts rose with every inhale. She was balled up, and I was reminded how small and delicate she really was. And her face. Oh, her face. It was the sweetest, most beautiful one I've ever laid my eyes upon.

_She's a girl._

I woke up thinking that one truth. Its voice cut through the heavy morning air. Panicked, afraid and desperate. _Run_, it told me. And being the fucking coward I was, I listened to it.

Getting my bicycle up the trail, as quiet as a mute mouse, was the easy part. Her yelling at me in a voice that broke my heart? Me walking away like she didn't mean a thing to me? Yeah, that was the tricky bit.

I mean, I didn't think that hurting her would hurt me twice as much. But it did. It fucking did. When I left, I felt that something had been torn out of me. Something big.

_Be brave and want me back._

So I did it, I listened to her. I got brave. I wanted her back. I learned to stick around. Thick and thin, I was going to hold my ground.

Yeah, she was a girl. So what? I actually enjoyed the liberty of snogging in the loo whenever we wanted to. I mean, you can't sneak a boy into the ladies room without arising suspicion. I enjoyed swapping the occasional top with her, I didn't mind the extended wardrobe. I enjoyed shopping with her and being able to do a quickie in the dressing rooms. That's an awesome bonus, if you asked me. I also enjoyed it when she was braiding my hair before I painted her nails (Excuse me, but I did. Is there a fucking problem?).

Alright, if it wasn't obvious enough... Well, she's a girl. And_ I love her._

And these epiphanies? They weren't so bad anymore. Now, they reminded me of her remarkable lady bits and all the inappropriate things I've already done to them. I knew for a fact that my tongue and finger dexterity drove Emily absolutely insane.

The fact that both of us are girls? Now I wondered why I ever thought it was a problem for me in the first place.

She bent down suddenly, disappearing in a red blur. When she snapped back into sight, she was sporting a satisfied smile. The sweater was in her hand.

Her arms slid into the sleeves first. She swung it above herself right before she pulled it down, gradually covering creamy skin. Gone were her tits and her stomach and her pale skin. Christ, I missed them already. Her lady bits.

This was how Emily wore a sweater.

It still turned me on, though. Like a really hot strip-tease done in reverse.

_Oh Emily_, _you truly are a wonderful, __**wonderful**__ girl._

I held up the covers as she hopped aboard the bed. Once she was in, we lay there for a bit, quiet and on our backs. I was wondering what she was wondering about. I stole a glance. Her eyes weren't closed, they were looking straight up.

So I guessed she was probably wondering about... my ceiling or something.

I felt the bed shift. She rolled over to her side and propped herself up on an elbow. I followed suit, mirroring her effortlessly.

And when I did, she looked deeply into my eyes and said, "I love this sweater, it feels like you haven't stopped touching me."

I knew that probably sounded dirty, something that would have done no good to your knickers. Coming from Emily though, it just sounded ridiculously charming.

And she wasn't wondering about my ceiling. Which was a good thing. See, I still had no idea how to explain to her why I haven't taken the glow-in-the-dark stars (that didn't glow anymore) off of it yet.

My lips widened as I leaned in. When I was the proper kind of near I whispered, "Better than oils and stuff?"

Our faces were so close now. Close enough that our noses touched, close enough that I could see the honey freckles in her eyes.

Emily smiled as well, and she said, "Yeah, better than that _and_ salad."

We broke into a quick giggle before she closed the distance between our lips with one last kiss. College in the morning, we reminded each other silently. Really, if we went at it again, we'd be absolutely useless tomorrow. Christ, I felt exhausted just thinking about it hypothetically.

And I seriously had to stop because I had a Politics test first period. I had my mum's boyfriend/lover to impress and that wasn't fucking easy (He gave back my essays with top marks and 'love postscripts' for mum, all that in red ink, his sick idea of sweet).

Emily and I were lying on our backs again, on our respective sides. I breathed in the scent of room. It smelled of our sex, our sweat. Of me and her. Nothing screamed '_us' _better than this...

This was Us. Emily and I, sharing a bed 'til kingdom come. There was no other thought that made sleep come to me easier than this. It was my strange, hoarded supply of comfort.

"Night, Naomi," I heard her say softly, like a favorite bedtime story.

My hand searched underneath the duvet. In that warm maze, my fingers bumped into hers clumsily before slipping through them like a perfect dovetail joint.

"Goodnight, Emily."

* * *

Now, this sweater? I never expected it to look this amazing on her. But it just does, matching her remarkably well, hugging and falling at all the right places, complementing her curves. She looked rather snug in it. A really sexy kind of snug that shouldn't even be legal.

That girl is too fit for her own good.

Champagne was passed out in blue and red plastic cups. Yeah, you're hearing it right. I'm not kidding or anything. Champagne in cups. Yeah, super classy that is.

Anyway, I've had about... two? And one of their vodka mixes... I mean, it's been a while since I drank this much. Jesus, Naomi, three drinks later and the club morphs into Spin City for you. What is up with that?

From the looks of it, at this point, I can only dream about being the last lady standing.

Emily has her arms looped around my neck. My hands are on her hips, keeping her against me. I follow her lead, keeping our hip-grinding in synch with the music. Though I have no idea how well I'm faring at this dancing thing.

Honestly, all that's running through my mind is that I need to fuck her, like pronto. Get her into a dark corner, against a wall. I'd hike up her skirt and fuck her like it's a secret.

What the hell, Campbell? God, why am I so horny tonight?

"Borrow your bitch for a while, Naomikins."

I snap out of my thoughts in an instant.

It's Effy, appearing out of nowhere, like the majestic unicorn she is, coming down with sparkly rainbows and shit. Suddenly, she's patting my girlfriend's head. Yeah, I mean... really giving Ems a good, ole' patronizing pat that Emily stops dancing entirely.

Fuck, is this really happening?

I'm a bit tipsy and everything, which is why I'm surprised when I say, "She's not my bitch..." then I'm willing myself to stop, but oh fuck no, my mouth is already opening, and I finish saying it anyway, "She's my _Fitch_."

I say it in a mix of pride and shame. Pride because Emily really _is_ mine. And shame because I never thought that I'd be victimized by the 'replace Fitch into anything that happens to rhyme' syndrome.

I mean, I don't really think that it's fair. That there's a certain point in a person's life where they can't help but _have_ to accidentally-on-purpose do a Fitch Switch.

Just fucking inevitable if you ask me. So like... don't judge.

Emily playfully rolls her eyes at me as Effy grabs her by the hand, "Fine. Fine. I'll be borrowing your Fitch," she repeats obediently.

Before I can ask anything or complain, they're gone.

And I fucking swear Effy's got magical powers for disappearing that lightning quick. Damn it, she didn't even say where she was taking Emily. For all I know she might be making my girlfriend dig a hole all the way to China. And without inviting me? No, Effy, that is not cool at all.

Oh God, my lips... they're pouting. _Pouting_. The fuck? Jesus, a minute hasn't gone by yet and I'm already missing Emily. This is bloody ridiculous. Wanking hell. Look, this is what love does to me. Makes me a sappy twat. A sappy, happy twat. Emphasis on the 'happy'.

As I'm making my way through the packed dance-floor, some clueless tosser attaches himself to me from behind. "Ahoy, babe. The name's Ben," he says to me, hairy arms snaking around my waist.

Somewhere out there, Emily Fitch _does not approve_.

"Christ's sakes." I mutter under my breath before turning around to push him off me. "Right, _Ben_. And Bob's your wanking uncle. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Feisty girl, eh? You seem fun," he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Fucking hell, I'm starting to really hate this guy. Seriously, I want to rip his gross uni-brow off. King Kong.

"Babe, my cock is long enough for me to suck on it."

And now he declares himself King _Dong._ That's just great! _How_ does he do it? Ben, you lousy fuck, is it still possible for you to be any wankier than you already are? Fucking hell. He has issues.

"Fantastic shag right here," he says, patting his crotch area. "Now babe, d'you think you've found what you're looking for?" puffing his chest out as if he isn't enough of a narcissistic male ass.

"No," I say, practically fuming.

Then he has his hands on my shoulders. He leans into—_invades_ actually, my personal space. "Want me to help you look, then?"

When is this fucker going to piss off? I can't help it. I explode.

"Yeah, maybe you can help me, Ben. I'm looking for my girlfriend, actually. She's about _this_ tall, a redhead, great ass, great tits. She's rather beautiful, really hard to miss and I've been wanting to fuck _her_ all night. Think you can help me find her?"

He flings his hands off of me like I spontaneously combusted or something and they drop to his sides like dead weights. He's looking at me with a mix of disgust and horror.

I flip him off with all the intensity I could muster at the moment. He finally lets me pass. Yeah, thought so, you twat.

Well, I sure do a splendid job of driving cock away. God, I'm such a lesbian.

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**A/N: **Now that you're done reading, I'll be collecting your comments now. Kidding! XD Aww, but you know what they say about jokes being half-meant… What I'm trying to say is that your comments would really help me get better. I wanna know what you think. And it'd be great if you have a little advice or criticism to give. I'd really appreciate that. :)

**Next Chap: **As promised… Fitch **TWIN**teraction! Effy looking like Jesus Christ! A hand caught in the **COOK**ie jar! And another dose of the **FITCH SWITCH**! Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4: Lover Undercover

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**: Please put up with Naomi in this chap. She's under the influence of various substances... So if she's a little sentimental and a little unoriginal with her profanities. Blame it all on sex, drugs, rock 'n' alcoholllll! :)

It's another Eff-Naomi tie-in. And it got rather long. While I was writing it, I was all like, "shit, stop growing!" and then the room got smaller and smaller and the fic pinned me against the wall and everything. Crazy, crazy shit. So I had to cut the chapter again.

Oh well, more chapters for you! XD

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the previous chaps! I love you guys so much! YEAH! :D

**Expect:** Fitch **TWIN**teraction! EFFY CHRIST! The **COOK**ie jar! And another dose of the **FITCH SWITCH! **Read on and enjoy!

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**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

**_by interpol..ice_**

**Chapter 4: Lover Undercover**

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**= = = ** EFFY ** = = =**

Turns out, my grab-Emily-and-fucking-leg-it plan worked. I was able to detach her from Naomi without much of a problem. I escaped unscathed. I'm lucky. No, really, I consider myself utterly fortunate.

It was also sweet, you know. If you could've only seen the look on Naomi's face the moment I took Emily away from her, well, maybe you wouldn't have had the heart to go through with what I just did.

I stole Emily away like some really bad-ass villain from a Disney movie, leaving Naomi pathetically torn. And let me tell you this. It's not exactly a look you see everyday. Well, not on Naomi at least. So it's all new to me.

Naomi has always been the hardest to read. In our little group of friends, it's Naomi who's the most unpredictable. Me and her, we used to be alike. We like hiding who we are. Not really happy with our inner selves.

I don't know about Naomi, but I lost touch with my inner self ages ago.

It's just that, we've got so much... love in our hearts. That we're too scared to let it out. Scared that if we give that love away, it'll never come back to us. That it will leave us essentially emptier than we already were.

But there's a bloody difference.

Naomi has Emily.

Now, she has actual emotions on her face. She has Emily in her heart. She has that heart on her sleeve.

It shows. It just fucking shows.

* * *

It's not that I'm jealous or anything. No, not really.

I push those thoughts away as I lead Emily through the club.

* * *

Emily is the second girl I've dragged into this ladies room. At this rate, I'd be qualified enough to be called a Fitch Bounty Hunter or something. How fucked is that?

On second thought... it _does_ sound like an interesting vocation.

Yeah, this might be the most my life can possibly amount to. I'm rounding up pretty, little hobbits. Wow, gee-whiz, isn't that just glamourous?

When Emily walks into the loo, spotting Katie perched on the sink counter, the first thing she says is, "The fuck, Katie? You're smoking now?"

Katie flashes her twin a cheeky smirk, makes a show of taking in a deep drag of her cigarette. "Yeah. S'what?" Katie manages to answer back, blowing smoke into Emily's face. That is, before she starts coughing like an old man again.

"So what?" Emily repeats disbelievingly, her voice raised. "So what? You're not even doing it right, Katie, fucking cow."

Emily slaps Katie's hand that's holding the fag and the fag jumps over the moon, into oblivion. When done right, like one Emily Fitch just did, no one gets burned by the hot ash. Emily has skills, obviously.

I can see Emily's face screw up instantly when she examines Katie's 'helpless' state. "You smell. Really bad," Emily says, much to Katie's displeasure.

"Cook gave her the old heave-on-the-hoe," I say while passing by them, giving Emily all the info she needs in a nutshell. I kick open a stall, flip the toilet-lid down and take a seat.

Emily turns to me, a little smirk on her face. "Nice way of putting that."

"Fuck you." Katie shoots my way, in her defense.

"Yeah, I love you too, Katie." I say, with like, zero sincerity.

Katie flips me off, her face screwed up, clearly frustrated. Panda is right. Katie Fitch is definitely Hulk with a vagina.

There's a sound of a foot tapping in impatience. And yes, it's the sole of Emily's lady skate shoe repeatedly hitting the tiled bathroom floor. Emily has her arms crossed and she's looking at Katie with eleven types of disapproval.

After Emily's quick assessment, she decides, "You can wear my shirt."

"Fine. I'll wear anything as long as it doesn't reek of Cook."

Like being told an order, Emily takes her sweater off.

Surprise, surprise. Emily is wearing a shirt with a pig on it_. A pig on it_. And I know it's Naomi's. Anyone with eyes would know that shirt belongs to Naomi Campbell. Who else in college cares about Animal Rights? Who else has the balls to wear a pig shirt out in the open?

Naomi Campbell, that's who.

"Fuck no, I'm not wearing _that_."

Emily makes a sound of disbelief. "You said you'd wear anything," Emily says. She's frowning now, obviously annoyed as hell.

Katie's jaw drops, absolutely baffled.

Oh, Emily, don't you get it? Katie will never wear that pig shirt. Not in a million years. When will you get a clue? Surely you're cleverer than you let me in on.

"Yeah, I said anything _normal._ And for your information, normal doesn't include over-sized shirts with pigs on it!" Katie says, exasperated. "It's a fucking _pig_, Ems!" she adds, not missing a beat.

Emily lets out a frustrated sigh. "Well, I'm not letting you borrow my sweater," she says, crossing her arms, a pose of pseudo-defiance. She's pretty decided about what she just said. Looks like Emily's going to really stand by it this time.

"Ems, please? I need you, okay?"

Emily, I can tell, is dying to refuse point-blank. But it so happens that Katie has an effective puppy dog pout. I fucking swear, it makes her look like a pitiful primary student who just dropped her ice cream cone. Before the poor thing could even get a single lick on it.

It's precious enough to break anybody. The look on her face at the moment is so... irresistible. It almost makes me forget that she's the devil incarnate.

Emily sighs again. This time, in submission. "Alright, but you fucking owe me."

Now I see why Emily has put up with her all this time. Katie knows which buttons to push to get what she wants. Considering Emily's her twin and all, Emily's buttons are probably the most familiar to her. The easiest to push.

Emily's hand reaches for her opposite wrist. I've noticed that she has this scrunchy clipped around it. She takes the accessory off and ties her long red hair up in a this-will-have-to-do ponytail. It shows her desire to get this whole damage-control business sorted already. "Can we make this quick? I need to get back to Naomi."

"Alright, then," Katie agrees. She takes her top off, revealing a bra with zebra-patterns on it.

The zebra bra. In short, the ze_**bra**_.

A small smile plays on my lips at my secret amusement.I watch as Katie curls her top into a haphazard ball. She catches my eye, and throws her shirt to me, the bundle resembling a baby leopard. Katie then points to the rubbish bin inside the stall I'm occupying.

Oh well, it was nice knowing you. Then I drop it into nonexistence.

After that dirty deed, I check up on them. Just in time to see Katie struggling to break through the sweater hole and then… pop goes the weasel, she succeeds.

"Soft. So fucking soft." Katie mumbles in approval, she's smiling now. "Why the fuck is it so soft?" she asks Emily, weirdly amazed by the sweater. "Can I have this, Ems?"

Emily's eye twitches, ever so slightly, undoubtedly irked. "Fucking hell, Katie! It's a sweater. It's supposed to be soft. And no, you can't have it. It's mine, not something that you made me buy, but all mine."

Funny. It's almost as if Emily said 'duh' in between every word.

"Right," Katie says, drawing the word out in that special way of hers. And then it's like something clicks in her head. "This what she gave you for our birthday then? Well, that's pretty lush. Lucky you, all she got me was a strap-on," she says glumly.

Emily's eyes grow wide, like two fleshy grapes stacked on top of each other. That is, if you _could_ stack grapes, anyway. "She got you a strap-on?" Emily asks, her jaw dropping slightly.

Oh God, I could watch these two for days. They argue oh-so-amusingly.

"Yeah, quite the comedian, your girlfriend. It was rather fucking funny of her, you know, to have done that."

"And you kept it?"

"For your information, it came with leopard-print knickers! Of course I fucking kept it."

The room falls silent. I catch the look on Emily's face upon the introduction of this new, rather interesting, fact. She's trying so hard to suppress her laughter. I'm feeling the same thing. I want so fucking badly to laugh.

Naomi, you smart-ass. I give you props for your genius.

Then Katie breaks the serious ice. She snorts, once, twice, before setting off on a rather strong laughing fit. That's it, what me and Emily were looking for. The go-signal. We're finally allowed to laugh now.

And we join in, the humorous sound, echoing all over the room. Me and the twins. Who would've fucking thought?

The room isn't vibrating as threateningly as it used to. I can't make out the music that's playing outside. I can't make it out over our laughter. The tension that was there before, it's gone now. I find it easier to breathe, to focus on the now, on the inside.

Not on what's happening out there, not on what happened before or on what would happen when I get out of this loo.

The past hurts. The future probably will.

But I'm having a fucking laugh with Katie and Emily Fitch. It's feels that they hate me less. This. This is the now.

The before and after, they don't matter much, those things. Not to me, anyway.

I feel less heavy already.

* * *

Not quite finished with catching her breath, Katie says, "Well, at least she's got good taste."

I don't know if she's talking about the sweater _or_ the strap-on.

Both. I decide. Katie is talking about both.

* * *

"There, good as new," Emily says, tucking Katie's hair neatly behind her ears.

Tony, he used to do that to me too. I used to come down late for breakfast and catch him at the bottom of the stairs. Just as he's putting on his coat. Then he'd do that. You know, fix my hair. Then he'd quote me a line from a poem he read the night before. And he'll walk out the door.

Me and Tony. We used to laugh every time we happened to talk in accidental rhyme. Oh, Lord. I did it again.

Katie hops off the sink counter to throw her arms around Emily. I see that Emily stiffens, like she didn't see that one coming. But she eventually eases into Katie, lets Katie hug her properly.

The first time I caught sight of the Fitch twins, they were getting out of Danny Guilermo's ridiculous, yellow (yellow? Couldn't you pick a gayer color please, Danny Guillermo?) monstrosity of a convertible. And I saw it. I saw it in the air.

_I saw that Emily hated Katie._

At the small of Katie's back, Emily's fingers find each other. And they mesh.

They mesh like twins.

_And what I see now? Well, it's actually nothing like that._

I mean, how can you honestly hate a part of yourself?

They separate and Katie turns to the sink again. She grabs her purse off the counter. She takes out two lippys. She hands Emily one. They take off the caps, twist the lipsticks into visibility, and they re-apply.

The twins do this in an unreal, synchronized fashion. Their movements are so exact. So in tune that it almost freaks the fuck out of me. Like they popped out of the Twilight Zone or something.

When they're done, they lean into the mirror together. They press their lips against it, leaving two kiss marks, side by side, one a darker shade than the other. Emily writes an 'E' in hot pink, next to her lip-print. Across this, there's a 'K' in deep rouge.

They step back and view their masterpiece. From the looks of their reflections, I can tell they're pretty pleased with themselves.

This twin thing, it's cute... I guess.

* * *

I want Tony back. I want him home.

* * *

Katie and I are alone again. Emily's gone off, itching to get back to her girlfriend. Without a doubt, Naomi and Emily, they have attachment issues.

I get off the toilet seat and walk over to where Katie is. Standing in front of the mirror, I make myself presentable too.

My hair's a bit shite, so I run my fingers through it, lazily. There, it's all nice and proper again. After I'm satisfied with that, I add another coat of lipstick. Then a thought comes across. I lean into the mirror and place a kiss next to the _K_. Then I write my initial beside it.

A _K_ sandwiched between two _E's_.

When I pull back, I catch Katie staring at me in a way she shouldn't have. Again. She needs to say something. I can feel her reluctance from a mile away, though. Needs to say something but doesn't exactly _want_ to.

"What?" I ask softly, taking a step closer.

She reacts by taking a step backwards. "I don't know..." she trails off.

"Don't know what?" I press, inching closer.

"Don't know if you're actually sincere or if you're just headfucking me all over _again_," she lets out in a straight stream. And then, her voice a little lower, she says, "I don't fucking know if you're a Jesus or a Judas."

For every step I take forward, she takes two steps back.

I snort. It's derisive, I know. But Katie's being really ridiculous, going all biblical on my ass.

Katie stands straighter, more alert than ever because I believe I have deeply offended her. It shows all over her puppy face. "Umm, 'Scuse me?"

"That's a cliché to say."

There I go again, with the rhymes.

One small step forward for me, one giant leap backward for Katie Fitch. Her back makes a soft _thump_ against the tiled wall. She's two heads taller than the hand dryer she's standing next to. Even so, she's still so small.

"Fuck you," she says, lunging herself forward, in a movement that makes me back off in reflex. There's this fire in her eyes. Something I couldn't place.

I don't back down, I stare at her unrelentingly. My head dips, until our foreheads are crashing angrily with one another.

"Well, fuck you too," I say coldly.

This is it. We're never going to fix whatever the fuck is going on between us. She'll never forgive me and I'll never be free of this guilt.

A feeling has grown inside of me. A feeling I couldn't place. All I know is that it's strong. It's terrifying.

And the mother of all WTF moments, Katherine Fitch kisses me.

Katie's kissing me.

* * *

And honestly, it's rather nice.

* * *

"Jesus."

This is what Katie says right after we part and just before coming in for another round. _Jesus_, she says. Like a prayer.

Yeah, Katie. Exactly, I'm a fucking Jesus.

* * *

**= = = ** NAOMI ** = = =**

It's getting really old, dancing alone and all. I come to a slow halt and I look around me. Strobe lights slice through the moving bodies and they all look like technicolor scars on everyone's skin. This place, this club is a battleground where teenagers, armed with alcohol, drugs and sex, banish their demons into oblivion.

With the proper combination of artificial happiness and a single-mindedness to get trashed, you could forget your own name in here. This is a place where your mind is bound to play tricks on you.

Where the fuck are they? Emily and Effy have been gone quite a while now. It was pretty exhausting. I've been looking for Emily's blue jumper in the crowd the moment Effy whisked her away.

The DJ spins on Bon Jovi.

And for fuck's sake, it's Bon Jovi we're talking about here. We all know what's going to happen. Boys who can't dance for shit will start jumping around with intense abandon, not really caring whoever's poor foot they land upon.

Right on cue, some reckless bastard's trainer stomps on mine. And fucking right you are if you think it hurts. Because it does, like a bitch. That man probably weighs three hundred pounds.

Life-preservation instincts kicking in, I get the fuck out of there. So I head over to the bar, temporarily giving up my search.

Just as I'm taking a seat, I hear a familiar voice.

"Whoooah-oh! Naomi-oh!"

It's Cook. And there are two things that I notice about him. One, he is wearing a track suit. Ha, that just blows me away. I can hear myself laughing in my head. _Hahahaha_ and then some. Yeah, it's _that_ funny. And the second thing? Well, secondly, his breath stinks like road kill that wore cheap perfume for its funeral. Yeah, talk about precision description. Unbelievably awful.

"Cook," I say in acknowledgment, sort of glad he happened to find me. "Those are some nice threads," I point out, raising a brow at him.

He glances down at his attempts to conform. "Right. Had to blend in, blondie," he says with a toothy smile and a wink.

Cook hops onto the stool next to mine. Getting a good eye at him, I have to say he looks a little worse for wear.

"Fucking glad you guys came. Class-A mates, fucking Class-A. Really appreciate it." He looks around suspiciously, says to me, "Say, any sign of Johnny White, give me and Thomas a heads-up, alright?"

"Alright." I answer automatically, not understanding a thing he just said.

Okay, maybe I am... a bit trashed.

"And Katie. Tell me if you see Katie," he adds as an after-thought.

"Why? What's with Katie?"

"Oh, nothing. Just threw up on her, that's all," he says, appearing to be totally unaffected by it.

_Oh, nothing?_ Really, Cook?

It's never really nothing with her. This is Katie we're talking about. She doesn't let anyone get away with anything. He fucked with Katie Fitch, in my book that makes him a dead man.

"Hang on," he pipes up quickly, "you're all by your lonesome."

To that, I just roll my eyes. I'm alone, so what? It's not like the end of the world. It's not like I can't function without her. No, it's nothing like that at all.

"Where's ya' lady love?" he asks, holding four fingers up at the barman.

"I dunno. She's gone somewhere with Effy."

Cook just nods at this. Seems like he doesn't want to talk about her. Yeah, okay, I'm not bringing her up again.

The barman sets the four shots up on the counter and Cooks face lights up again. He leans in closer to me. Cupping a hand near my ear, he says, "Hey, listen here, blondie. I'm lettin' you in on a little secret. So promise to keep schtum, yeah?"

He leans back and he has expectation written all over his face. And I'm all like, 'Really, Cook? Do I seriously have to promise?'

But anyway, I just nod at this.

Then I watch as he digs into a pocket of those Sporty Spice trousers of his. He takes out what looks like a little packet of something. Of course, drugs. It's so typical of him.

"Don't you think it's unwise to be waving that around like nobody's business?" I ask while scanning around to see if anyone's noticed.

He ignores my question completely.

"Uncle Keith's mixed up a new blend. His advice? Pop these little fuckers into some alcohol and you'll have yourselves a fuckin' par-_tay_."

"Cook, I don't think this is such a good idea. I mean, I don't even do..." I trail off, not really knowing how to finish that sentence aloud.

"Oh, come on. Live a little!" Cook insists, with his stupid face. The one that makes him look like he's having the time of his life. The one that makes you feel like you'd miss out on the eighth wonder of the world if you didn't join in on his fuckery campaign. Christ, his stupid face. It surprises me, how it's so convincing.

And really, it's not like I could say no to anything at this point.

He opens the Ziploc bag and puts a pinch or two in each glass. Then he licks his fingers, taking good care not to waste the precious powder.

"Let's get this shindig started then, shall we?"

"Cheers," I slur before we clink our shot glasses.

It goes down fast, but not without a fight. The mix adds a nice, sweet burn to the vodka. And I've got to admit, Uncle Keith nailed this recipe, taste-wise. This is some excellent stuff.

"How long 'til it kicks in?"

He reaches for his second shot. When he's finished with it, he pulls off a sour face. Cook's skin is a flushed red when he finally answers, "Not long, not long."

Something in the crowd catches his attention. I follow his gaze and when I see it land on... well, a crowd of complete strangers, nothing special, I give up trying to figure out what he was looking at.

"Hey, I gotta run. I think I just saw that girl I came here with," he quickly explains, already out of his seat.

"Cook, wait!" I call out, suddenly remembering something.

He turns around. "What?" he asks, ambling back to me.

Rummaging through a tiny purse is easy. Even when you're as drunk as a Russian on a good day. I find what I'm looking for in a second. There, I pull out the rest of my Soothers. He has to have them. If he wants to stand a chance with that girl he should at least have acceptable-smelling breath.

I force it into his grasp. "You need that, trust me."

He laughs. "Sure, whatever," he says, before cutting through the crowd, popping the collar of his track suit up.

Some things never fucking change.

Like Cook and his 'fashion statements'.

* * *

A couple of schnapps later, I start wondering about the 6 most statistically full of shit professions. Half-way through my list, between wine tasters (those chums say they know the difference between two bottles of _the same fucking wine._ Real, hilarious shit) and weather forecasters (reading from a teleprompter isn't exactly a gift of premonition now, is it?), a girl takes the seat beside me.

She smells like all the good things in life. Like a freshly-opened orange that fills the whole house with its sweet, fruity zest. Like Emily.

I swing my seat and I'm thoroughly disappointed to see no trace of that blue jumper I so expected to find.

Instead. It's Katie sitting there. Emily's sinister twin sister, all coy smiles and devious eyes.

Now listen, there are some things you allow yourself to think when you're drunk as shit. Like this thought in particular... which I'm sure would've made me off myself if it was thought whilst sober. And being sober? Well it's something that I was _far_ from, really.

And those drugs Cook gave me? Not helping _at all._

But... Fuck it, but Katie has certainly gotten incredibly _fit_ since the last time I saw her. Maybe even hotter than Emily.

It's wrong on so many levels. But I couldn't help myself. Katie is looking really fuckable to me tonight. Bollocking shite, I sure am drunk out of my pissing mind.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. I will myself to stop staring. But I can't. I just can't look away. Katie's too... attractive.

She has her hair up in a messy ponytail, leaving her neck exposed. Leaving little red tendrils sticking out in contrast to her white skin. Fuck, she does have a lovely neck. I've only noticed that now.

My stare wanders south. I wonder what her tits look like. If they're as grope-inducing as Emily's are. But no, I stop myself, dragging my eyes back to her face.

What I see though, when I have the decency to divert my stare back up, is even more absurd. Katie's almond-shaped eyes are looking at me with this... hunger. It's surreal. But it looks like Katie's _desiring_ me. I mean, seriously. I know enough about body language to make subtitles for _that_.

I break eye contact and scan the rest of her face. Same button nose, same strong jaw line, same deliciously defined lips. Same agonizingly pretty face.

She's a fit fox. And it strikes me. She looks _so much_ like Emily.

She crosses her legs, my stare shifts immediately. Her legs, they go on forever. Fucking hell, I'm perving on Katie. Here I am, lapping up every inch of thigh and calve. From her knees to her—oh no, something doesn't look right.

Wait just a fucking minute.

Those shoes. Those Vans Ferris Lo-Pros. Those are Emily's. I bought those for Emily on You Know What? I Don't Need a Holiday To Show You That I'm Madly In Love With You Day. Sugar Daddy habits aside, why the _fuck_ is Katie wearing them?

She gets off of her stool. And I get mindfucked even more because the white shirt she's wearing stretches to its full and glorious length as she takes a confident step toward me. Fuck no.

Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Katie really is wearing a tee with a giant pig on it? Because if she is... One, that's _my_ pig shirt. And two, _Katie wearing it _is more impossible than Obama going off his rocker and turning Republican! It's _that_ unlikely!

So while we're on the topic of impossibility... I should probably tell you about the part where Katie, Katie _fucking_ Fitch, comes right up and just puts her lips against mine. With no permission whatsoever.

Fuck. Fuck. _**Fuck**_.

I'm totally caught off my wanking guard. I mean, this is the last thing on earth that could happen to me... And it's bloody happening! I shit you not. It's actually happening!

I freeze. And just let her... keep doing this to me. Let her go on with sucking my upper lip.

Because somewhere along the way, my mouth starts hanging open.

And I'm not doing a thing to stop her. I'm even kissing her back. I told you, I'm too pissed off my tits to say no to anything. My mind just bails on me.

Christ, everything is such a blur. This girl is a blur.

She gives my top lip another little kiss and pulls away before I can even gather enough will power to stop this two-to-tango thing myself.

Holy hell, what the fuck am I going to tell Emily?

_So... I snogged Katie by accident. I mean, you guys _**are**_ twins and all. Honest mistake, Ems. Please don't break up with me?_

Like she'd buy that? Dream on, Campbell. Dream the fuck on.

I'm there, thinking of a million more plausible excuses. To be honest though, each one gets shittier than the last. I go on and on, freaking myself out to the limit that is... until she speaks to me, for the first time this night.

"Hey, I've missed you," she says breathlessly.

And it struck me, her voice. Deep and raspy. Two parts husky, one part smooth (that's right. I know how to make PVA glue, loser). I mean, it's a bedroom voice that I hear every night. I'd recognize it anywhere. _Anywhere._

Even if I was a deaf person wearing earmuffs.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading this long chap! Any thoughts, bbs? Comments do help get a writer going. C'mon, send me some lovin'. :)

**NEXT: **Naomi and the **Dream Dance Routine**! **KEFFY** gettin' cosy! Oh, and try climbing up the Ladder of Doom and Debauchery! Just when you think the PANDAS have disappeared completely, along comes our favourite one. Guess who? And for our OTP, there's the long journey back. Will our two lovers get home safely? All that and more, next time!


	5. Chapter 5: Pretty ODDyssey Part 1

**Title:** Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author:** interpol..ice  
**Fandom:** Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing:** Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating:** T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary:** Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes:** Hey, hi, hello, jello (hugs). I'm back with another chapter! It seemed like it was about to drag on for forever because I had so much fun writing it. So I had to cut it up to here again. It's long enough, though (the longest one yet). That means you're in for a lot of reading! Hope it compensates for your wait! :)

Thanks to all the sweet people who read my stuff. And more thanks to those who give me feedback. This one's for you guys! And it's going to be cool since I'm really happy with this chapter. Writing it was just so organic and spontaneous. It was actually a bit magical (and f*cking gay)... Or something. But anyway...

Twoot-Twoot! All aboard the Funkytrain now! We're off to Chapter 5!

**EXPECT:** Naomi and the touchy subject of her **MAD DANCING SKILLZ**! **KEFFY**, up-close and closer! A **LADDER** that screams doom and debauchery! In for a Soda Pop? Then **PANDA**'s has got the right fizz for you! This is all a kick-off for the our OTP's trip home...

You know how some nights never end? Well, this is one of those nights.

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur****  
**_****_

by interpol..ice

**Chapter 5: Pretty ODDyssey (X, Y & Z Units Away From Home)**

* * *

And it takes me a couple more seconds to fully grasp it. A bomb goes off in my head. Nagasaki and Hiroshima, blowing up at the same time.

Fucking moron, that _is_ Emily.

* * *

_And this song is about going to a party with your girlfriend. She goes off to go to the toilet or to get a drink. And you're standing there on your own. And you look across the room and you see this girl that you utterly fancy. You just. It's not mental. It's physical. You're just like… wow._

**_Snap!_**

_And you realize it's your girlfriend and it's like... Cha-Ching!_

- Glen Hansard on his song, "Falling Slowly"

* * *

A tsunami of relief washes over me. Just like that, the wind blows and angels sing. Thank God! I did not just cheat on my girlfriend! I did not just cheat on my girlfriend with her twin sister! I didn't just enjoy kissing Katie because it was actually Emily I was enjoying kissing all along. All along!

This is another type of Fitch Switch entirely.

I'm so fucking delirious that I want to try out the happy dance that I just choreographed in my head about ten seconds ago. It involves pretending to be underwater, jazzercizing, twirlies, and... _the Robot_. Oh, oh! And Emily! Because it's not a happy dance if it's not with Emily.

So I offer her my hand. "Let's get to it, then. You owe me a dance, lover," I say, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

I probably look like a wanking nutter right about now. But you know, it's love. Going mad is just one of the inevitable after-effects.

She bites her lip, looking back at me with an 'Really? I've adored you since middle school as well!' stare. And her hand slides into mine. Every familiar line of her palm, concrete evidence that she is exactly who I want her to be.

Not some evil twin.

I'm guiding (more like dragging, really) Ems deeper and deeper into the crowd. And a few meters away, I spot Effy. Because it's not hard zoning in on her. She's ever the enigmatic magnet. Drawing in eyes like shit does to flies. That's Effy for you.

Then, right there thrashing about beside her, is Katie. Katie of all people. I flush, instantly remembering the fact that I thought I snogged her. But what outweighs that, what's even more shocking than that... is the sight of Katie and Effy in _close proximity_.

They're... dancing. Together. To be more precise, _grinding_. Together.

For two people who are supposed to hate each other, they seem to be enjoying this. _This_ being getting friendly with the enemy. So can somebody tell me what the hell is going on? Please, anyone?

Upon closer inspection, I see that Katie is wearing Emily's sweater. Oh. So that's where it went. From where I'm standing, I can see that the sweater is nice on Katie. She carries it differently. In a way that makes her appear softer. I mean, less likely to beat your face in with her itty bitty fists.

Right, back to freaking out... Why, why, why? Why is this night so full of surprises? Because it's getting a little too much for me to take. Geeze, I'm really starting to consider the possibility of this entire night to be a dream. The bizarreness of which can be easily explained by a Freudian-based psychoanalysis.

Though I'm a good distance away, it slaps me across the face. The twins are without question... different. Even though she's looking pleasant and pretty at the moment (because of Effy?) and even though she's in Emily's sweater... Katie actually looks nothing like Emily.

I can't even believe that I ever thought Emily was her. Yeah, sure, Katie's got her neat quirks (her lisp _is_ funny, for one). She's cute in her own psycho-bitch way. But the point is... Katie will never be as heart-stopping as Emily is. Never in a million centuries.

So, let me run that by you one more time. Can I stress how fucked up it is that I ever mixed them up in the first place?

Then, quite suddenly, Effy gives me a spectacular showcase of talent as she twirls Katie like she _means_ it, sending Katie into an unlikely fit of hysteric giggles.

My jaw drops in disbelief. Why thanks, Eff. You beat me to the punch again. First, you steal my girlfriend from me. Now you're stealing my twirlie-thunder.

No, Effy, that's not cool.

I turn my attention back to Emily. Because she's pulling off her scrunchy and letting her lush locks fall in a magnificent trail-blaze of red, red, red. And she's there, grabbing fistfuls of her hair while the music sways her in a constant wind and grind motion. And Jesus... it's sexy as shit.

Dear God, I know you did a stellar job of creating the universe and everything... But I've got to say, making someone this adorable and so equally filthy at the same time? Well, I'd give you a life-time award for that if I could. But if I did, I think you'd smite me right up the ass for being so full of myself... But really, God, I have to say...

Every other girl, every other Eve has got nothing on Emily Fitch.

Katie squeals in delight again. Effy's just gotten her to do another twirl. In that instant, I remember what I came here to do.

I grab Em's hand, and I just sort of raise our arms up high. It's funny and lame. Sort of mechanical. But Emily, she gets it. You know, since she's my soul mate and all. She gets it. And she executes.

She twirls. My precious little princess. She twirls for me. And it's perfect. And I can't help but think to myself, 'Yeah, it definitely isn't a happy dance without Emily Fitch.'

* * *

Newsflash.

I'm wrecked beyond standard _wreck_creation. Pissing pissy! Steaming drunk!

I can't even think of a proper hyperbole to use to further strengthen my point. All I know is that I'm never taking drugs from Cook again. Not ever. Who knows what kind of trouble I'd be getting myself into the next time? Exactly. I don't want to find out either.

So, you have probably worked it out by now. I've become useless. I'm fucking useless. And if you're counting on me to make a sense of sorts any time soon, you're in no luck... Just saying.

I might have made the mistake of overdoing the popping and the locking. Seriously, I can't even feel my neck. Like, if I got my head chopped off via guillotine at this very moment, I wouldn't be able to feel it.

I'm telling you, I'm so fucking gone. Besides that, I must have done a dozen more things that could've contributed to the degradation of my independence.

Actually, the only reason why I'm still standing is because poor Emily's acting as my human crutch. She's got my arm slung around her shoulders. And my upper body is sort of slumped over her tiny frame. But she's holding me up, reasonably nice and steady. Emily, my lovely little trooper.

Have to hand it to her, you know, she's deceptively strong. She must have been doing a lot of time on the naughty bar. The fact that she's capable of lugging me around speaks volumes. That there's true love, my friend.

To be really totally honest, I believe I've scored the best girlfriend in the entire Milky Way. I'm fucking sorry, but you can only wish you were me.

I nuzzle against her neck. Digging my nose into her soft, sweaty flesh. I kiss her, taste her. She's deliciously salty. Emily groans back in appreciation. I feel her vocal chords humming through her neck, tickling my lips.

I move up to her ear, I want to tell her how much I want to take her home and shag her silly.

"Emss—zeee?" I say loudly. So loud that I manage to drive her head a good distance away.

"Babe, mind not breaking my fucking ear drums?"

Not taking what she just said into consideration, I declare my intentions like they're the only things that mattered. "I'm taking you home."

"Awww, Naoms. Sweet and all, but you're like... well trashed," she reminds me, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Sure not in the right state of mind to take me home, really."

"Please, Emily?" I persist, irrationally desperate. The substances sure do a great job of talking for me. Seems that the drugs and the alcohol have conspired and turned themselves into this disembodied ventriloquist. Guess who the fucking dummy is?

"Well, you do look like you could use some fresh air. C'mon, hon. Use your feet would you," she says, shaking me into a more active state. You know, so that I could get my legs to work like they should be.

"That's it. Nice and easy. Baby steps, baby steps," she encourages, already maneuvering us to the club's exit. She's probably learned this corny, motivational technique from none other than Daddy Fitch.

I've never really had a real conversation with the man. But I've heard stories from Keiran. See, Keiran's gotten bigger around the belly (he's discovered Mexican Food). So mum teases him about it every time they shag (I can hear them through the walls, they're a loud bunch).

Not wanting to be called 'Tummy Wobbles' during their vintage fuckathons anymore, Keiran has forced it upon himself to exercise. And Rob Fitch Fitness just happens to be the closest gym in the vicinity... of Keiran's favourite pub.

See, these exercise stints of his don't work because immediately after every workout, he heads straight over to the pub and drinks back the calories he's just burned.

Anyway, he's picked up a lot of shit from Rob. If I do say so myself, Keiran has fashioned himself a fairly impressive Rob Fitch impersonation. It cracks me the fuck up every time he brings it out during supper.

Once I even sprayed orange juice all over mum because Keiran, in his Rob voice, went, "Oy, Keiran, there ain't no magic involved in making yer sissy man-boobs disappear. What have I told you about reps, reps, reps? You shame the Irish, Mac Foeinaiugh! Christ's sake, you're pathetic! You've got to yearn for the burn, Kieran! Yearn for the _burn_!"

And if you're wondering, my walking lessons with Emily are going absolutely swell. Still a little shaky (I've tripped three times already) but nevertheless, acceptable under the following influences.

Johnny White and his henchmen ease into my periphery as Emily and I are moving. They're stationary on the dance floor a couple of people away. And doing a tad shit at being menacing.

They're too busy arguing with each other that I don't worry about them catching Cook. Who I'm supposed to warn... but it seems like the lucky twat doesn't need it.

Hell, even me and Emily slip by unnoticed. And honestly, most of the times we pass by anywhere, it's standard procedure for people to do double (sometimes even triple) takes. I mean, we're like... two very attractive lesbians. So... if you've got a functional set of eyes, why the fuck not? And for White and his goons to not have seen us, they must have been _seriously_ preoccupied.

Soon after, we meet up with Panda and Thomas in the tunnel that leads to the exits. They look like they've had enough of this party as well.

"Heya, Panda Poo, Tommo Too!" I greet with overwhelming levels of stupid.

"Golly Golightly! What's gotten in to you?" Panda says, in an honest to God kind of curiosity while Thomas is trying to hold back an amused grin.

Yeah, what's gotten into me? For fuck's sake, I'm supposed to be cool. Sarcastic bitch cool. I worked hard to get to where I am. So what exactly am I doing to my reputation?

"I think someone slipped something into her drink while I was away. Good thing I got to her in time. I mean, look at her. Who wouldn't want to date-rape my girlfriend?" Emily says humorously, coming to rescue the last shards of my self-esteem... I think.

"Right. Naomi is quite a catch. Actually, I _have_ considered surfin' and turfin' with her back then... I may have been gay before Thomas came around. Bonkers honkers, right?"

Oh, Christ. Panda, I would have never known.

Emily is unmoved by this. Because that's just how Panda hands out her compliments. Emily and I just take what we can get.

Thomas, on the other hand, has this worried expression on his face. "Why don't I get us out of here?" he says animatedly, breaking the more-than-awkward silence.

"Naoms?" Emily says gently, prodding me in the ribs with her elbow.

I slur back in acknowledgement. "Mmmm?"

"Think you can handle getting up that ladder?"

I stare back at her dumbly for a while. What is she on about? What ladder? Then she points to our right.

An uneasy feeling in my stomach grows. I watch as Thomas scales the said ladder. He reaches the top and lifts off the manhole cover. I gulp in reflex.

Oh, _that_ ladder.

He climbs to the outside. From the parking lot above, he motions for Panda to follow. Panda scrambles up quite easily. Probably because she's into performing and interpretative dancing. So it makes her all limber and better at this ladder thing than I can ever aspire to be.

Fucking underground clubs. Why can't they use stairs like regular people?

How the fuck am I going to make it out of this stunt alive?

I almost die of anxiety when I notice it's Emily's turn. Oh God, did I just wet myself? If I did, well... that's just perfect now, isn't it? I check, patting my private areas through my jeans.

Thankfully, no I did not wet myself.

Emily's gone high enough so that I have an ample amount of space to start mounting myself on. From a long way up, I spot Thomas' patient face just waiting for me to get on with it. It's crazy but I find myself incredibly pressured from that look alone.

My hands are shaking when they grip around a bar. Then I get one... two feet on the thing and I brace myself for the task ahead. I climb up, fearing for my fucking life in a way that's just sodding _sad_. My hands are being so damned useless, getting all wet and clammy.

Christ, I'm more frightened than I thought I could possibly be. One slip could be the end of me... or like... the end of my dignity. Which, when you think about it, is pretty much same thing.

My world starts spinning and I feel like I'm caught in the centre of a small-scale tornado. The green lights, the clay-coloured walls, the people in their horrid track suits. They all clash into a whirling ambiguity and...

_Bam!_

I'm all shook up. Elvis-style.

Emily has gone a good way up already, creating a kind of obvious distance that means that I'm pathetically lagging behind. I glance up, prepared to go full fucking steam ahead. Which is a bad idea, I discover a second after. I look up and by doing that, I also happen to look up... into her skirt.

And Jesus. Her knickers are _right there_.

It's not like I've never seen them before. But there's something special about this pair. I don't recall to have ever taken these off of her. Pink and orange stripes. Hmmm, those must be new. They look so delicious that I plan on taking them off using my teeth. Just... bite into them or something... Wait. Why am I suddenly reminded of those doughnuts from Thomas? Why?

Seeing up her skirt is getting harder because she's climbing at this infuriatingly steady pace. I find myself enthusiastically grabbing bar after bar just to catch up with Emily. And her doughnut knickers.

It's hilarious. That what's driving me on, what's making me climb higher and higher, is my perversion. You know what? With the proper inspiration, you can reach whatever goal you set your mind on.

Sometimes I'm so sneaky it scares me.

Pretty soon my head pokes out into the fresh air. Thomas is there at the top, waiting for me to take his hand. Instead, I grab at his arm desperately and he pulls me up. I picture Alice squeezing herself out of Wonderland, out of that rabbit-hole, back into the real world.

You have no idea how delirious I am. Hell yes, I'm still alive and kicking! I'm so damn proud of myself that I'm absolutely sure I can now tell Mt Everest to go fuck itself. After that bloody ladder, the world's tallest mountain is a munchkin monument to me.

After Thomas closes the manhole cover, the music dies and we're all left in the quaint atmosphere of the parking lot. Thomas straightens out, catches my eye.

"I can tell you looked up her skirt," he tells me in an undertone. In that boyish secret way of theirs. You know, when they're talking about naughty things concerning girls.

"That obvious, eh?" I say guiltily, wiping the sweat from my palms on the fronts of my jeans.

He raises his eyebrows twice. A yes, from the looks of it. Then he says, with a low, mischief-laced voice, "Boys will be boys."

I let out a quick laugh. "Tosser," I say before giving him a punching him softly in the shoulder. His little smile grows even wider. The sheepish smile, sheepish no more.

Great, when did I grow myself a cock? Can somebody please tell me that?

* * *

Emily nudges me softly into consciousness.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

I open my eyes and find out that we're seated on a park bench just outside an empty playground. We're somewhere up north, near Thomas' place.

Resting against her warm body, I feel at peace. I don't make any move of getting off her shoulder. And my eyes shut again, of their own accord. I want to stay like this for as long as possible.

"So, your head cleared up yet?"

"Huh?"

"Okay. That's a 'no', then."

A bit more, Ems. Let's just stay like this a bit more.

* * *

I warm up to the idea because I think I've gained back the majority of my composure. So, after Emily's countless proposals, we finally explore the playground, giving it a quick sweep. The fruits of my labour appear beside the jungle gym. It's there where I manage to find a bright green water pistol.

I'm all-out gung ho about this and I proceed to have a blast chasing Emily around with it. We get so caught up in playing cops and robbers that I run after her all the way to a couple of cars parked just outside the area.

I finally catch her and she feels like a struggling fire in my arms.

_(Freeze!)_

She does what I say. And with little difficulty, I pin her against a tiny, yellow Volkswagen.

_(You have the right to remain silent.)_

Emily plays along, keeping her hands clasped together behind her head, sniggering all the while. Behind her, I drop the toy gun and I kick apart her legs.

_(Miss, I'm usually a gentleman... But it's absolutely necessary for me to conduct a strip search this very second. You've been a very, very _**bad**_ girl.)_

And I squat down to hike her skirt up, running my hands on the sides of her hips. Then they travel teasingly, to the inside of her thighs. It's rather a filthy way of _checking_ her for dangerous weapons and hidden water pistols... But it's all in the name of Pretend Law Enforcement.

And besides, Emily seems to like it.

As I go up, I think about how I've already touched every inch of her. Go ahead and shine a UV light over Emily's body and you'll find a shit-load of Naomi Campbell fingerprints.

My hands dip into the curve of her waist and then they climb up to the little bumps of her rib-cage. Her restless squirming is telling me that I'm nearing my destination.

Patience, Emily. Patience.

_(Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.)_

I place my palms against her tits, through her/my/_our_... **_our_** pig shirt. And right on cue, she gives off this shaky breath that just sends the blood rushing down to my groin.

I squeeze her breasts with an indecisive pressure. Not too hard, not too soft. And when Emily can't take my lazy hold anymore, she lets her arms fall over mine. She covers her hands over my bigger ones, urging me to clutch her chest harder. And when I do, she throws her head back wildly, getting her hair on my face, making her neck accessible to my hungry mouth.

I'm all over her in a flash. Kissing, tasting, smelling, biting. Greedy, selfish. Marking my territory. Marking what's _mine_. She's mine. And I can feel Emily melting under me.

_(You're under arrest, Emily Fitch.)_

Talking in cop has never been this criminal. Because that's how it works. This is how you put the person who stole your heart behind bars.

* * *

It's not long after when we trudge back and join Panda and Thomas at the swings.

I plop myself down on the free seat next to Panda. Imagine my joy when I find out that Emily takes a place standing behind me so that she can push. Now, won't you take a look at that?

What did I tell you? Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

So we're there. And we're falling into a routine of sorts. Swinging, pushing, and half-listening to Panda's words of whizz-dom. Over the next few minutes, we hear her babbling over stuff accompanied with inordinate amounts of enthusiasm.

And according to her, everything is fucking _whizzer_. Her and JJ sharing a penchant for Reese Witherspoon, WHAM!, petting zoos and Captain Sexy Lumps (_Thomas_, Emily whispers to me on that one or two seconds when I sway back to her for another push). All that and more, whizzer.

It gets extra interesting though, when she mentions her 'career aptitude test'.

"I took this bitchin' hard career aptitude test the other day. Mum forced it on me. Says it'd help me get somewhere, help me get to Harvard—-which is funny because I don't even know what Harvard is..."

Yes, sometimes Panda can be so ignorant sometimes. Like, don't be surprised if she ever happens to forget the other half of the alphabet. Because with Panda, it's totally possible. Well, whatever. She's quite a ball to have around. So no complaints from me.

So... Pandora and Harvard huh? Fat, obese chance, that. Really, Mrs Moon? I mean you sure like to dream big...

"But the lady who tested me told me I'm well on my way to be a whacker Careers Advisor! Doesn't that sound great?"

Emily, being the decent half of our couple, politely agrees. "It's wonderful, Panda."

"I thought about it over breakfast and everything, since mum made me brain flapjacks this morning. She says it'll help me smart up. Why, thanks mum, but I'm not getting a Nobel Prize overnight. Right flippin' raa-raa she is. Good thing I don't take after her."

Oh God, Panda. Don't ever change.

"But really, I love her for trying. Anyhoo, I was there, not having anything better to do because we ran out of maple syrup. Flapjacks don't taste the same without them... So I stopped eating. But I think their brain powers worked on me because after that, I thought up of all the brilliant things the lot of us could be. You know, imaginin' our rears in these careers. Have I told you that?"

"No, Panda," I answer absently, finding listening to her easy. You could just sit back and rely on her to talk for hours on end. It's completely effortless. Her long monologues have effects similar to that of instrumental music ridiculous mums-to-be make their unborn babies listen to.

"I haven't? Oh well..."

If you think she's done with the rambling, she's not. Panda doesn't know how to quit it, really. So, expect more from her, all right?

"Thomas, he's going to be a musician. Aren't you, Captain Sexy Lumps?"

Panda lands against his waiting palms. His arms rock back, receiving the impact, keeping her momentum. And then he pushes her off again, high into the dark air.

I picture Emily behind me, doing the same thing. I picture us being a couple. Young and in love and playing on swings or whatever. A real, normal couple.

Well, not exactly normal. But this is as real as it will ever get for me.

"Panda knows me well, very well," he says to me and Emily, keeping a watchful eye on Panda who is swooping back in again.

"Of course I do, silly. We're in love, remember?"

"Yes, yes. How can I ever forget?"

Pandora tucks her legs in and as soon as she nears Thomas, she plants her heels firmly into the sand. She twists her head to give him a semi-cross glare. "You better not, Tommo."

Thomas isn't fazed at all. He just nods at her, calmly, reassuringly. And when Panda turns her head back forward, Thomas gives her a soft push, to get her started again. And Panda's face glows. There's a content smile on her lips before she starts speaking again.

"And Naomi, you always say you want to be the change you see in the world. But Michael Jackson is already dead and you don't have any acceptable dance moves whatsoever—"

"Hey!" I cut in, deeply, _deeply_ offended.

"And then, I remembered you running for President last year and it hit me! You could be the next Obama! You could be rockin' it like Barack!"

This, I like. Now that's what I'm talking about, Panda.

"But you don't have the kind and sincere heart that black people have. Take Thomas for example. He's the most decent, dreamiest boy I know. Because he's got a golden personality, really. And his being black contributes to that... I think."

Panda pauses a second to think about it. And then she tells me, "So, no, Naomi. No being Prime Minister for you."

She's just going on non-stop, sounding more like a raving lunatic with every second that passes by. All the while, Emily pushes me harder and harder and I go up higher and higher.

"Instead, you get to be an assassin!" she yells, right fucking ecstatic about that. So loud that I could almost feel the entire playground quaking a bit.

As I'm rolling back I hear Emily snort behind me. An instant later she lets out a surprised 'fuck'. My back collides into her unsuspecting form by accident (totally an accident). Because really, that was all physics' and momentum's fault. And hers.

It's primarily because she wasn't paying attention. Doesn't she know that you're supposed to be extra alert when you're facing girlfriends that have the potential to be dangerous flying projectiles?

I dig my heels into the sand to stop my swinging. And to take a moment to absorb her words. "Sorry, what?"

"An assassin."

"An assassin?" I repeat, looking for some excellent explanation as to why that is, my eyes following Panda's whoosh-whoosh movements religiously.

"Yeah, those crazy peeps who are paid a shit-load of money to shank people. They wear black leather, what more could you ask for?"

So I've discovered something. Something scientific. Apparently, the Doppler Effect does not work on Pandora Moon. She's on max volume forever. Near or far, Panda's as constantly loud as a wailing walrus in heat.

She swoops down close, her voice booming. Another push from Thomas sends Panda rocketing away. And I can still hear every fucking word she's saying.

"No, I know what an assassin is. But... _why_?"

Why the fuckity why, Pandora?

"It's like in _Wanted_. Since you don't know who your dad is, he might as well be the president of that super-duper assassin fraternity. And any day now, some hot chick—"

"Ehem, excuse me?" Emily interrupts purposefully.

"—some fugly skank-hoe," Panda continues accordingly, "is gonna come and take you to their hit-man leader and then he's gonna tell you you're supposed to start offing people because that's what you're born to do."

Right. Duly noted. I don't even know what to do with this new piece of information. Do I laugh at it? Do I take it seriously? Should I have ignored it completely in the first place?

"Oh, it's going to be marvelous! I went as far as imagining your training montage in my head. Upbeat metal music, pig cadavers and everything. Then you live the rest of your life killin' and chillin', keeping the peace and all that."

"I don't think I want to be one," I tell her, honestly. It's too preposterous, I'm just saying.

Panda has none of my reluctance. None of it at all. "Sure you do, stupid."

It's like she sets it in stone, you know. _Really_ believes that her fantasies are going to come true some day. Once upon a time, Panda had an idea. Whizzer, whizzer, whizzer. And then, the end. Then it all just makes perfect made-up sense.

So...

That's how I became an assassin. What the fuck have you done lately?

Emily, not wanting be left out of all the career advice fun, suddenly has to ask, "Okay then, what do I get to be when I grow up?"

_Do you really want to know?_, I want to ask Emily. This is some dangerous territory she's treading on.

"Easy," Panda says pointedly. "You're going to be Naomi's wife."

I love how Panda says it like it's the most obvious thing in the whole entire world. I love it. I love it. I love it.

This is too fucking A. I tip my head back, wanting to see Emily's reaction. Just like I pictured it, I find Emily's eyebrows raised in bewilderment. Christ, she's just so adorable when she's surprised like that.

And she thinks me being an assassin is funny. How much more if you're that assassin's _wife_? Oh, Emily.

She tilts her head down to meet my very, very smug face.

"That's right, Mrs Campbell. You heard what Pandora Moon, Careers Advisor extraordinaire, just said. You have to be my wife," I say, being the cheekiest prat on this side of Bristol.

Emily just laughs her cheery laugh (the one that makes my stomach feel all kinds of funny) and she says a hearty 'fuck you'. Just before leaning in to give me an upside-down peck.

So even if we're doing another rip-off of that silly Spider Man kiss, Emily still doesn't fail to make my mind race with it.

Like, I swear, if I had spider senses, they'd be _well_ tingling right now.

* * *

**A/N:** For this chapter, I have shamelessly borrowed some words form Glen Hansard. I have to credit him for this story being born. He is practically the father of this plot bunny.

I've got a Thought Box that needs some fillin'. Mind helping me with that? ;)

Reviews would be really sweet to eat right now. So yeah, feed(back) me! I'll take anything! XD

**NEXT:** The next one is just the other half of this chapter. It's just more of this, really. (I know right? What a lazy way to build up the suspense) ;)

**NEXT**(the überserious version)**:** This story gets a little uncharacteristic as our characters dive into a sea of serious. Because when you really think about it... They're just kids lost in a cloud, grabbing at any silver lining that comes their way.

So they've been going around and around all night. But we all know these kids are homeward bound... But home needs a new meaning. Stay tuned to see how they redefine it.


	6. Chapter 6: Pretty ODDyssey Part 2

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]

**Author's Notes**: Hello! I'm back! NEW CHAP ATTACK! RARRRR!

I realized, a little too late, that I made a grammatical error _on the very first sentence_ of chapter 5. And besides that, I've discovered that I made a couple more. Then I wanted to crawl into a hole and just stay there until it's an age where someone will invent an art movement that'll declare words overrated (but I don't want this happening, EVER).

Also, I'm very sorry for this agonizingly overdue update. I just went on a week-long vacation without my most loved extra appendage (my laptop, obviously). So while I was _not_ catching up with this fic, I was able to do a whole lot of catching up with my high school buddies instead. There was this one night where I got gloriously drunk at a beach-side bar. My bff had to drag me all the way back to the resort. Let me tell you this, that two kilometre walk/draggy time wasn't fucking easy. The sand wasn't cooperating like... at all. And along the way, I puked on some coconut trees. THREE FUCKING TIMES. And with me putting on a jolly good show for my high school friends like that, I do hope you guys understand why it's been awhile since I've last made an appearance.

And if fanficdotnet fucks with my formatting again, I'm sorry about that too. If it helps, just think of it as tastefully un-uniform... ;)

Oh dear, I'm a mess of apologies. Tsktsk.

So anyway, let's see if the next 8,000 words (longest chap ever!) make up for it all. :)

And a special message to **LuvActually**:

I **ActuallyLuv** you. ü Teehee!(runs off, giggling madly, promises to come back with a cargo ship of proper reviews for Coin Laundry)

Once again. I thank you guys for giving me some (and for this Mandy-sized chapter, a ton) of your time. Like, I seriously encourage snacks. Haha! Happy reading, everyone! :)

**EXPECT:** A lot. ;)

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

_**by interpol..ice  
**_**  
Chapter 6: Pretty ODDyssey (Here, You Can Be Anything)**

* * *

_Odyssey: A long wandering or voyage usually marked by many changes of fortune_

_- _Merriam-Webster

* * *

A few minutes later, Panda does a little than less subtle mentioning of being hungry. She begs Thomas to procure some doughnut holes for her. Because, apparently, doughnut holes are her new favourite thing. And too bad for Thomas, it's a wee hour in the morning and where the fuck does he think he can get doughnuts for her at this time of day?

How much more getting her doughnut holes?

If I know any better, they'll stop at the first fish and chips stand they see and Panda would be all like, 'Doughnut holes? What doughnut holes?'

So our double date tandem couple have left me and Ems alone in this playground. And an entire playground to ourselves? That's terribly romantic, that. Yeah, all sweet and dandy.

And then, like the energetic firecracker she is, Emily tells me wants to goof off a bit more. Emily _wants to play._

She tugs at my hand, pulling me towards the structure with such eagerness. It's a tall slide. That those 'cool' kids ride on whenever they felt extra daring or whatever.

And you know how Emily is. Brave as a pride of lions (_Like fierce_, Jenna Fitch says to me). I guess that's why the most adrenaline-rush–inducing ride on the playground appeals to her.

When we get there, my stomach drops. I seem to have forgotten the basic parts of a standard slide. Apparently, they have ladders as well.

Fucking hell, doesn't God understand my newly acquired case of vertigo? Must he keep throwing these tall hardships in my face? Because if he is, well... I'm kissing heaven goodbye.

Emily, quite eager about this whole 'let us be children' situation, has already mounted herself on the thing. She's scaling it quick, like she's a licensed expert at this. And she must realise that I'm making no move to tag along. She stops half-way up the ladder. "You coming then?"

"I'm fine down here, thanks."

Why am I fine down here? I'm looking up her skirt again, that's why.

"Hey!"

My eyes snap back to where they're supposed to be. Forward, not upwards. Emily's climbed up high enough so that her shoes fall into the line of my brand spankin' new parallel eyesight. "What?" I answer, feigning innocence.

"You were looking up my skirt," she tells me, pointedly.

We both tilt our heads towards the other. Me, up. Emily, down. Her brow is slightly furrowed, clearly indicating a mild disapproval.

"No I wasn't."

"You were too."

I don't even know what to say anymore. I miss the days when I lied like a lawyer. Without a flinch, without a conscience. My dishonesty easily bought. It's so different now. I just don't have it in me to deceive to her. I mean, in any case, I could. But if I did, they'd be crowned the lamest of all deceptive attempts. I'd even get a trophy and everything. Because Emily sees right through me like I'm hiding behind squeaky-clean glass.

And even the basic lies. The simple ones that I could've normally gotten away with. Like, what just happened now. When I lied about how I could totally not (not-ever-in-a-million-years!) be looking up her skirt. Well, maybe it would've helped if I didn't immediately do the exact opposite of said lie two seconds after telling it.

Honestly. My eyes? Her knickers?

Different polarities, people. Different polarities. And if you know anything about science or shit, you'd know about attractive forces. You don't need to be Einstein to figure out how my stare got proper glued to Emily's under wonders.

I've got a developing chronic problem, deal with it.

"I heard you and Thomas in the parking lot. Fucking obvious, Naomi. It was written all over your face. Like, for a second there you kind of looked like James..." And then Emily's face softens. "You're such a perve," she accuses me playfully.

Now that the cat's out of the bag, I might as well indulge. I move towards the ladder, with a newfound confidence (because I wasn't going to have to climb it) until I'm close enough to get my hands on her.

"Oh, but you like that," I say, running the tips of my fingers along one of her legs. I feel her shiver under my touch. And my heart explodes, knowing that I have the power to get her like this.

She just bites her lip and flutters her eyelashes at me. In a way that's too fucking coquettish for me to take. When she turns away, I let out a big, shaky breath that I didn't even know I was holding. Emily's leg gently shakes my hand off and I withdraw it obediently, missing her skin already. She nimbly climbs the rest of the way up.

The distance brings on different results. She's there, a couple of feet above me, having a swell time. While I'm here, incapable of enjoying myself (Why the slide, Emily? Why?) and getting increasingly bored in the process.

Of course, the urge to have a smoke comes to me eventually. So I feel the pockets of my blazer for my fag packet. It seems to take me a while to find the fags since I've forgotten which pocket I've placed them in exactly. For a second there I think I may have dropped them back in the club. And the odds of that happening were high given that I was monstrously trashed and all.

It's in the last possible pocket where I find them. The hidden pocket inside of my blazer. Why thank you for hiding my cigarettes from me, _fucking hidden pocket_. I take the packet out along with the lighter that I stashed in there as well.

The pack is fresh, untouched. Surprising really, how I got through the night without my usual dose of nicotine. Then again, I had too much free alcohol plus Cook's _get-the-fuck-out-of-town_ drug mix to keep me busy the whole while.

Turning the box upside down, I start giving it a good tapping. I pick at the perforations (I don't even know why I know they're called that) with my thumbnail and they come undone. I pull the lid back with a practised ease, feeling really suave and shit. I breathe in deeply and the distinct smell of tobacco puts me into an even better mood.

After jerking the packet this way and that, a stick juts out. I pick it out of the pack with my teeth and once it's out, I tightly close my lips around it. I cup a hand right around the tip, excited to finally get a drag. Before I can light up though, Emily starts making this _tut-tut_ sound above, from where she's sitting.

"Whatever happened to ladies first?"

I take the fag out of my mouth. I hold it up in between my two fingers, motioning, _Oh, __**this**__?_ at her.

She nods her head, like an eager puppy. It's so unarguably cute. And I'm not even a big fan of puppies. Or pets, or bunnies, or anything cute for that matter. Oh, Emily, what you do to me.

"Aren't I a lady as well?" I say, rolling my eyes at her and her twisted perception of Equality Rights.

"Says the teenage boy who looked up my skirt," she counters.

As the greatest epitome of a perverted teenage boy once said, _"Toosh."_

I make sure she's paying attention before I toss the lighter up. She catches it without much difficulty, looking pretty damned pleased with herself. Emily holds out her hands again, ready for the next throw. The Silk Cuts.

She misses. And the packet hits me, smack centre in the face

"Awww, fuck. Babe, sorry 'bout that!" Emily apologises in that profuse manner of hers that to my ears, sounds eternally adorable.

"It's a good thing I'm fucking mad about you. Otherwise you would've made me mad a totally different way," I say, rubbing at my cheek with the backs of my curled fingers. Emily just beams down at me immaculately in return.

I place my unlit fag in my mouth again as I bend down to retrieve the fallen box.

"Swear _on your heart_ that you're going to catch them this time," I sort of order her, keeping the fag in my mouth. I think I need to use both hands, just in case. My face can only take so much pain.

Emily nods solemnly and I risk another chance of getting a fag pack face-plant by flinging them up at her once more. Her hands get a good hold of it and the next thing she's shaking the pack victoriously at me. Normally, I would've just rolled my eyes; ignore how irresistible she was being. This time though, I'm just relieved she was able to catch the fags.

Emily's victory is short-lived though, as she's struggling with the lighter. The frantic clicking goes on for a minute or so until she lets out a horrified gasp. "Your lighter just ruined my nails!"

I smile to myself. "Yeah, it does that," I say, sympathetically, moving towards the foot of the slide, at the other end.

She's taking forever. The butt of my cigarette's all soggy now because I was too busy sulking about her forever-ness to notice that it was still in my mouth. I yank it out in annoyance, before it gets too shit to smoke.

When she finally lights up, I throw my arms up and cheer a good ole 'Yay!' in mock celebration.

Emily raises an eyebrow at me; considers me for a moment, like a queen who doesn't find the court jester amusing enough. She inhales, looking straight down at me with narrowed eyes. I can't describe how it is exactly. All I know is that it makes me feel uncomfortable. In swift movements, she turns her head to the side and exhales. She begins to ignore me point-blank.

I stand there, dumbfounded. I feel like the biggest, most massive loser ever. I lower my arms slowly. "Umm. May I remind you that those Silk Cuts are mine?"

It's feels like a week has passed before Emily faces me again. She gets a nice, healthy hit of her cigarette, a coy little smile on her lips all the while. The smile and the smoke... it's something out of a black and white Fifties movie. Perfect silver screen cinema. Fucking incredible, this.

Somewhere out there, JJ claps his hands, says _Prestissimo! _and then that little trace of annoyance that Emily has summoned within me disappears completely. It's all so bloody magical.

I watch her small, girly hands at work. She shakes half the pack out for herself, taking a good seven to eight sticks from it without any sign of remorse. As if she has every right to take them. And I'm all like, 'Whoa. What is this? Joint Custody?'

Really, those Silk Cuts cost me six quid. Christ, I don't mean to be... But how can I not be irked?

Okay, sometimes I have to remind myself that in a relationship, nothing is ever totally mine anymore. And in all honesty, it makes me a bit mental. Not even having total control of my own head or heart. It's as if I'm a slave to this... To my feelings for her (please tell me I can't get any gayer than this). Well, it scares me shitless when I get around to really thinking about it; which is exactly why I stop myself from mulling over it too much.

But I let it go. Because if I had to resort to sharing anything with anyone... Well, it has to be the rest of my life. And it has to be with nobody else but Emily. Yeah, that combination exactly.

Emily holds my gaze as she places the packet together with the lighter on the small free space beneath her. She gives a little push, sending them racing down the slide. And they're hurling downwards at such ridiculous speeds that I have to place my legs against the foot of the slide as some sort of improvised way of stopping those objects. It works and they come to a neat stop as they bump into my awkwardly-positioned shins.

Fuck. How ridiculously dorky of me.

When I look back up at her, she's got this amused grin on her face. Apparently, she saw that.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. I feel warm and I feel red. And I wonder how you can ever feel a colour because that's just downright _not_ right. I'm clearly embarrassed.

I bend down to pick the Silk Cuts and the lighter up. This way, she can't see how affected I am. When I gain back my composure, I hold my head up, ready to say some witty comeback. "Fuck you very much, Ems," I say to her sweetly, like, _really_ appreciating how she's making fun of me.

She crosses her legs and locks them by her ankles. Shielding whatever it is I was about to sneak another glance at (don't you tell me you have no idea what I'm talking about). Always a step ahead, Emily is. "You're well welcome, Naomi." She takes a drag, draws in deep, exhales. Smoke comes out; shortly followed by the words I dreaded to hear.

"By the way, you were awfully dweeby looking just then. Really, really precious, babe."

"Right. Bet that got you all nice and wet. Am I correct or am I correct?"

Because Emily's the type of girl who finds it sexy as fuck when someone like me dances to Joy Division with an uncalled-for enthusiasm.

Emily bats her eyes. Suppresses a smile. Takes a drag, keeping her lips busy. Staying _reserved_.

I shrug it off and I bow my head down to see that bottom of the slide has a flat plateau. I shuffle around and I lower myself into it gingerly, immediately thankful that it's wide enough for me to fit in. I get comfy and I go as far as lying my back against the angled steel behind me.

We're quiet. Peaceful for a while. I can imagine her up there. Lighting her next cigarette with the flickering embers of the last one. Death and renewal. On her lips. At her fingertips.

My mind wanders. And I begin to see kids running around the place, suddenly invading our playground kingdom. They're so free, so happy. So untainted. They don't need sex, drugs, or alcohol or bullshit mates to help them get by. To keep them sane. All they have to do is run and laugh. Play tag and make sand castles. They have no reason to think of consequences.

Things used to be so simple.

When the smoke comes out of my nose in two heavy clouds, I feel like a train. I hold my fag up, getting a good look at it. My intent stare bores through the Silk Cut. Like I could slice it in half if I looked hard enough. "Don't you feel that it's a bit wrong?"

"Desecrating the playground with our intolerable smoking habits?"

Telekinesis. Emily has it.

"Well, yeah."

She doesn't say a thing for a while. I watch as my cigarette burns itself shorter and shorter. I watch as the smoke rises up in slow currents. I watch. And try not to notice the heavy silence.

"Do you want us to stop?" she asks stiffly.

_I dunno_, I wanted to say. But then I realise that maybe she means something else entirely. By the way that she said 'us' louder than she did the other words. That I shouldn't just take this question by its face value.

Did I want US to stop?

And like the oh-so-sensitive lady she is, Emily picks up on my hesitance. She comes up with this:

"I've read that in some countries, poor people fuck in cemeteries. So tell me if you want to compare notes again."

And it's like a one-two combo to the face, how those words come out of her. Something so sick from someone so fascinating. My head drops in submission, suddenly feeling very foolish.

The white part of my cigarette is gone now. So is the little fog that used to surround me. The brown filter is wet from my spit and black at the tip from the burnt tobacco. It looks absolutely pathetic. I chuck it out of sight.

"No," I say firmly. "No, I don't want us to stop."

I take another fag out of the packet, "Not at all."

* * *

It isn't that cold, but I hug my blazer tighter around myself anyway. I'm uneasy. Because really, I couldn't just _not_ think about it. It's what's been bugging me ever since I started sobering up.

I have second thoughts about telling Emily. Then third, fourth... even up to fifth thoughts. I couldn't get it out of my head. And I'm afraid that if I don't enlighten Emily, that little internal incident back in the club would haunt me forever.

Whatever happened to 'what she doesn't know won't hurt her'?

Wait. Is this something that you should tell your girlfriend? That you thought you allowed another girl to snog you? I mean, it's funny. But at the same time, it's sort of... not. Because you can't help considering it as some form of cheating.

My voice shows up, despite having lost itself in a very tricky maze. It shocks me, how nonchalant it comes out. "I thought you were Katie."

"What?"

"Back in the club. When you kissed me. I thought you were her. And she kissed me. And I let her. Like, I gave her permission or something..."

Now that I've actually said it aloud I realise it sounds like a load of shit. Now I know why there's this passage in the bible. Something along the lines of fools bragging about their foolishness. I mean, _I gave her permission or something_? Come the fuck on, Naomi. That wouldn't have come out right even if you tried saying it in twenty different languages.

Yeah, I admit that I have decent oratory skills and all but there are things that are just too fucking hard to explain. And sadly, that was the best I could come up with at the moment.

"Naomi, what the fuck are you on about?"

I inhale sharply, backtracking. Wishing I never mentioned it at all. But it's too late for that. I'm already in this pickle.

"After you went away with Effy, you came back and found me at the bar. You sat next to me. And that whole time, I thought you were Katie."

Emily turns quiet. An unsettling kind of quiet. Then the whole playground follows suit, like I've suddenly gone deaf or something. It's making me all anxious. I can't even find it in me to turn around to see the look on her face.

I have no idea what she's thinking. What is she supposed to be thinking about anyway?

"Is that bad?" I ask, hoping I'm loud enough for her to hear up there.

There's a buzz in the background. Fucking crickets, they sure chirp on cue. The damned little fuckers make the silence sound worse. As if silence could make a sound anyway...

"It depends. Care to explain why you let 'Katie' kiss you then?"

That's Emily for you. All about second chances. All about hearing people out. And being understanding and shit. But every time she does that though, it's like a challenge. A test. Like the sphinx in _Oedipus Rex_. Like she'd kill me if I don't get it right.

So I think. I think why. Why did I let it happen?

I launch into a useless roll. "Because I was drunk? Because of the drugs? Because I was a tad off my shit? Maybe more like... completely, irresponsibly off my tits?"

"You sound pretty unconvinced of yourself," Emily says, unimpressed.

"Because it wasn't really Katie I was kissing? Because she was actually you?" I ramble, grasping at straws.

A pause. That then grows into a long, thinking silence.

Emily sighs. A frustrated one, I distinguish. "For fuck's sake. You've never mixed us up before, why start now?" she mutters. And then, "I don't even know if I should be mad or flattered."

Out of habit, I dig my top teeth into my lip. My hands are shaking and my fingers fumble with my cigarette for a moment before I decide on flicking it out because it was getting too short anyway. Because I'm too bothered about the present situation to worry about proper waste disposal or any of that Environmental stuff I should normally be caring about.

"I don't know how to explain this..." I trail off, sort of hopelessly defeated.

You get it, right? In layman's terms, _I'm being lame_.

It's not long before my lips are twitching to have something perched between them again. Thank God for the cigarettes. They're helping me keep it together.

Drawing in an intense drag, I close my eyes, and feel my lungs burning. Looking to say some concrete shit. Hoping something resembling an answer would come to me.

Nothing happens. No epic messages. Dead wanking air. Absolutely nothing going on in my bonce.

"Ems? Can I not... You know..."

Emily snaps before I can finish whatever sorry thing I was supposed to say. "So is that all you can tell me? That in your mind, my sister kissed you and you're giving me rubbish reasons why you let her and now you think I'm going to call it a night? No, Naomi. Fuck no."

If you think that I proceeded to continuously bang my head back into the slanted surface of the slide, silently chastising myself with a series of _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ Well then, you're unquestionably correct.

Fucking hell, why does she always have to want more? Why does she always have to dig something up to its core? Why can't she just leave it the fuck alone?

Because, she probably doesn't know it or anything, but on a daily basis, she expects me to be this faultless hero. That I have the answer, the cure, the reason to everything. I mean, it's great and fuck, knowing that you're the world to someone. But I do have my moments of inadequacy. And I can't tell you how her disappointment makes me feel as worthless as scum. I hate it. I hate being this shadow that has to compete with this other me that's fifty versions better.

I feel trapped. Trapped in a web of her ideals.

_I can't do all of that, Emily!_ I want to scream in her face.

I get like that at times. I get so pressured that I want to drive her the fuck away by being impossibly rude like that. For her to just leave me alone because I can't stand it, not measuring up to whatever she dreams me to be.

Maybe that's all I am. The girl of her dreams. Which is funny, because my worst nightmare is that one day, she'll wake up and finally see that I'm not all that. One day, she'll stop loving me. One day, she'll leave me. My worst nightmare: Emily taking her rose-tinted sunnies off.

And I'm fucking terrified that if I don't come up with a sensible answer soon, she might do that very thing. I rewind my life, watch my memories fly by in reverse chronology. Hoping I'd find something there.

Then I'm back in my room, back to the first time Emily was ever in it. And it was all because of that stupid Presidential Race. We're lying on my carpet, tipsy from sharing a bottle of vodka, so in want with one another.

_I think you can do anything._

And then, in that trip down memory lane, I realise...

It shouldn't be about me disappointing her. It's supposed to be about her believing in me. It's about her waiting for me to come around to see that. That although she'd really want for me to shine, she'd still be there if it fucking rained on me instead. That Emily doesn't really mind if I don't hit any homeruns. Just as long as I go out swinging. Just as long as _I try._

Emily clears her throat, speaks up again, calm with an underlying anger. "So let me ask that again. Let's say, hypothetically, that 'Katie' _did_ want to kiss you..."

Yeah, Emily has a point about that. Katie kissing me? _Why would she_? And it's kind of freaking me out, every time Emily mentions this 'Katie' she likes putting too much emphasis on.

"... and she went right ahead and pushed her tongue down your throat. Why in the bloody hell did you let it happen? And why did you seem to be fucking enjoying it?"

I interject, "Who says I enjoyed it?"

"Oh, are you trying to say that I'm shit at kissing now? Christ, Naomi. You don't say that to your _fucking girlfriend_!"

I stub my cigarette out furiously against the slide's railing. I get up and turn around to look up to her in one motion. I'm nothing short of outraged. "I didn't even say anything!" I protest, with all due exasperation.

Fuck. Fucking mind games. And we're arguing on a fucking playground. Fuck's sake. This isn't right at all.

We're there, just glaring the tits out of each other. And when what seems an unreasonable amount of time passes by, I divert my eyes. I resume sitting back down on my place on the slide. I cross my arms across my chest in a huff.

She's being fucking impossible.

I dive deeper into my memories, desperate to make this right again. Clips of flashbacks whip by and I'm there trying to pick out the perfect one. An experience that could suffice as an explanation. The perfect peace offering.

It's been a while since I've thought of this. Because I've brainwashed myself for two long years into thinking it never happened. But the fact is... it did.

It comes forth from the dark nonexistence where I banished it to. It reveals itself to me slowly, steadily. First, as a photo of separations and contrasts. The blacks and whites. The shadows and the lights.

This dug-up moment. It's taking me through a process.

The lines and the shapes start coming to life. It begins to move, film grain giving the memory a good dose of vintage. It takes me back to the days when I was young.

Color bleeds in. It rains rainbows. And it's perfect. It's cinematic.

And now that this memory's on replay in my head, I can't believe how I ever managed to make myself forget it in the first place.

Right. So I have a story down. All I have to do now is tell it. Perhaps, in such a way that'll make her... well, not hate me anymore.

Damn right you are if you agree that's difficult.

"Emily?"

She doesn't answer. And even though she's not saying anything, it's like she's telling my nerve to get lost. To which it almost complied.

Yeah, _almost_.

"Look, I think I'm onto something. But please... If I go into a long monologue and still end up not having a point at all, don't get mad. Okay?"

I absently flick my lighter on and off. Again and again. I'm so anxiety-ridden that at this rate I'd use up all my lighter fuel before the sun comes out.

She finally speaks and it shocks the fuck out of me. The lighter jumps out of my hand, making a _bang_ when it hits the steel behind me.

"Go ahead, disappoint me," she says to me, dryly.

I take in a big breath, pumping myself up for this. It's not long before a cigarette's in my hand again. I needed all the support I could get. Because it's sort of a big deal... this confession of sorts.

"Ems, there are just these people that you see for the very first time. Who fucking blow you away. Like, right off the bat. And for a moment, just for a moment, they've got you completely under their spell."

It was years ago. But I haven't managed to totally shake the feeling off. I was struck like I never was before. That blow, an uncontainable force, an absolute bolt from the blue... it was completely enchanting. Unlike anything I've ever felt.

"The first time I felt that was when I saw this cute—and I mean _really_ cute girl. And it was just... wow. You know?"

My heart smiles just thinking about her. About that girl.

"I didn't care who she was. Where she lived. Where she went to school. Didn't give a fuck... that she wasn't a boy. Or that her fringe got in the way of her pretty face... The details, her history. I didn't care. Because on that morning, I saw her, at her finest moment. Standing on tip-toe, reaching for the biscuits on the high shelf..."

I light up another fag, needing to collect my thoughts some more. Unsure about how I was going to continue this.

"And then I thought... that was it. Whoever this girl was, I'm in love with her."

I was young. I didn't know any better. But I've heard that word being tossed around a lot (even more tossed around than salad). Soaps on the telly, songs on the radio, from mum's hippie friends. Especially from her hippie friends. I heard that word approximately fifty times a day. It drove me crazy.

And what this girl did to me, it fit that word just right. As if she handed me the definition herself.

"She wasn't able to get those biscuits, Ems. Since her sister came to fetch her. Their dad was already waiting in the car. And I didn't mean to, but I followed them on their way out, into the parking area."

I pause, taking a shaky, seemingly careless (I cared too much, really) drag on my cigarette.

Emily says something. And it's nice to hear her talk again. You know, after her unspoken vows of silence. "You? A stalker?" she asks like the thought of it has never crossed her mind.

And I'm laughing to myself as the smoke comes out of my nose in short, faint bursts. Like, the smoke is laughing as well.

"Apparently, we're more alike than you think."

She breaks into chuckles. I feel less shit. Like I'm gaining momentum.

"Anyway, when I was a good ten metres out of the store, there was this really burly she-man security guard, right? And she started shouting and running after me. Then I was like, what the fuck for? Only then did I realise that I was still holding a fresh, _unpaid-for_ baguette. Guard freaked the fuck out of me. So I legged it. Took the dumb baguette with me as a consolation."

As soon as I'm done saying that last word, I join in with her laughter. She was already giggling madly when I said, 'she-man', mind you. Now we're both having an epic laugh attack.

But I'm not quite finished. I still have some more things to say. So I try extremely hard to cease my snickering.

"So, do you understand? She had me totally under her spell. I couldn't possibly be held responsible for my actions. Because in those few seconds, all that mattered to me was knowing what colour the bow in her hair was."

Emily stops laughing completely. That's what I notice whilst taking in another drag. I think some more. About this past I've kept hidden away from everyone, from myself, for a very long time. The nicotine reaches my head not long after, making me dizzy. A cloud escapes out of the small _O_ my lips have made.

"I wanted her so much that it scared the shit out of me."

* * *

"I was twelve."

There's a magical child-like wonder when she says it. I smile. She's figured it out.

She remembers. She remembers reaching out for those Garibaldis.

"Yeah, we both were."

* * *

"So do you get it now? It was like that. _That_ is what you do to me. And if it makes you feel any better, you're the one person who can get me like that. I mean, you've done it again last night. Can't you see, Emily? You own me in every single way."

"Since you were twelve, huh?"

"Emily!" I whine, really not expecting that answer after my superbly grand declaration of everlasting love.

"Relax, Naomi. You of all people should know I feel the same way. Our love is a two-way street, babes," Emily says through giggles. She regains her self-control before she clears her throat to say,

"Naomi Campbell, I give you an A plus. And brownie points for extra effort. Consider us officially sorted."

* * *

She's been up there playing queen of the playground for quite some time now. All my Silk Cuts are gone so I toss the empty packet somewhere only God knows. And I do so with a kind of sadness you get when there aren't any more crisps in the bag. Right now, all I really want is to hug Emily.

I stand up. "I know I was being a lousy prick and all, but do you have any intentions of coming down?" I ask up to her.

"No," she answers simply.

I opt on making a big, stupendous gesture by holding out my arms in exaggerated readiness. "You said we were sorted. So come on now, I've got you," I coo, trying to be as inviting as I can.

Emily looks at me, eyes bright and crinkled, being really pretty. "You're really fucking adorable, you know that?"

"So I'm told," I reply cheekily, adding a wink for good measure.

Emily shifts on the slide for a moment, positioning herself. Then she's off. As she's rushing down she lets out a gleeful shriek. She unceremoniously crashes into me and we fall into the grass.

"Oh God, haven't done that in ages," she says breathlessly, kissing my cheek (like there's a fucking bounce in her step) before rolling off of me. And she kinda' lies there beside me. And it's only more than pleasant.

You know when you see those movies? About forbidden lovers or something? There's always this scene where they lie on a patch of ground, the open sky free for them to feast on. Like, it's the only thing they're allowed to share. Being under the same sky...

Because I'm half-expecting string music to start playing and I'm kind of waiting for Emily to sparkle (any fucking second now).

Just so we're on the same page... that isn't normal, right?

I blame free midnight screenings. Fucking teen vampire movies. Fucking pop culture.

We look up the stars. I chance a glance at Emily. She's still. And beautiful. She's still beautiful. And I can't help but think how everything she is seems to fall from the sky like stardust.

"What're you doing?" I ask gently.

Her eyes are shut in earnest, "Making a wish."

My eyes are back to the sky. My focus is scattered amongst the countless dots. "Hate to be a downer, but I doubt that's the first star you've seen tonight," I say, staring up into the cosmos. Wondering which one of these tiny spots she's made a wish on.

I glance sideways again. I study her. Because it's what I'm programmed to do these days (and definitely for days to come). And the incentives of my tweaked circuitry are magnificent. I've seen her in a myriad of angles and glows. In a multitude of her states and moods.

Now this I'm presented with this, her pale profile in a combination of illumination. From the streetlamps, the moon and the stars. There are things that really stand out when the lights are just right.

Like how breathtaking Emily is.

And a thousand hours of intense staring, of longing looks. It's just... bloody fuck, it's never ever enough.

That star you're wishing on, Emily. It can't possibly be your first one.

"It isn't." And then she turns her head to me, she catches me staring.

She's looking at me with cloudy eyes. And it's meaningful as _fuck._

_You are. You're my first star._

I stop. Stop breathing. Stop thinking. I stop at everything.

Emily is my red light. She makes me stay where I'm supposed to be.

This is the girl who has taught me that running away isn't the answer to everything. That running away from something inescapable is just extremely stupid. Because really, Emily's the only one who had the balls to crash my getaway car.

She finds my hand, holds onto it, "Besides, I already have all that I could ever wish for. It's all right here."

Right.

_I'm _right here.

I will always be right here.

I swoon. Because when a lovely girl says something like that (in a way that just kills you) you can do nothing but. And I just know that there's a mad blush racing through my skin. I look away shyly, not keen on letting her see me trying to out-red her hair.

I stare at one of those iconic phone booths in the distance, deciding immediately that it's what I'm going to keep my eyes on until my heart stops being so keen on bursting out of my bloody chest.

Because everyone neuron, every synapse in my body... They're all in a conspiracy to flood my systems with nothing _but _her_._

So yeah... in an increasing frequency and amplitude, I'm thinking of Emily. (Not like that's new, folks.) Which then leads to me thinking about the words I'm about to say. And how much I really fucking mean them.

"I love you too."

You know how some things stay a secret because they're hidden deep in your chest? Well, so much for that. Since my heart is beating so loud that I can swear she can hear it across the grass.

But I don't tell her that. Because pointing out the obvious is overrated.

Do you know that you can say 'I love you' without ever actually having to say it? Like, you can say something else entirely, but whatever weird shit that you manage to blurt out, it ultimately means the same thing. Or that, sometimes you don't have to say anything at all. Just the smallest of touches... just a space of two skins connecting. Sometimes, that's enough.

She gives my hand a tight squeeze. It says, _I know_.

Sometimes you don't have to point out the obvious.

Well, at least... not verbally.

* * *

Familiar voices. That's what I wake up to. I've dozed off again, obviously. They're a far way off but I can still make out Katie's voice.

Emily's still asleep (I can't believe we fell asleep on the bollocking grass) against me. Her head on my shoulder, her arm draped across my stomach. I brush her fringe out of her closed eyelids. I nudge her awake, thinking that it'd be prudent to do. She stirs and I'm met with the gorgeous brown hue of her stare.

Katie cries out something particularly loud and Emily's eyes widen faster than you can say...

"Shit." And Emily's already jerking her head off my shoulder.

"That sounds like your other half. Should we say 'hi'?" And I chuckle to myself, right amused at this. At how we're this collective unit now. I don't what it's like flying solo anymore.

"Oh, Christ," Emily hisses, looking around frantically. It's like she _wants_ Katie to pop out of nowhere with a chainsaw covered in blood. I dreamt about that once. Katie is generally horrifying. So I can't exactly hold that against Emily.

"What?"

"I totally forgot that I promised Katie we'd be going home together."

"We _are _going home together."

"No, not me and you. Me and _Katie_."

Okay, so I completely missed the point. Can we pretend that didn't happen?

"Which is why I'm obviously in trouble," Emily says, panicked. She's already up, hunting for some bush to jump into or something. And by the way she's deviating towards the foliage near some benches she seems pretty intent on that jumping thing.

"Emily," I call, sort of unconcerned about her unnecessary panic, "Come back here."

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Emily, the broken record, curses.

It's dark where I'm lying so I'm not that worried about them seeing us. When I say 'them', I mean Katie and Effy. They're on the pavement, and I get a fair view of them because there's a streetlamp every twenty steps or so. Katie's on a steady, angry strut. She seems right pissed about something. And then there's Effy, looking like she's making a proper effort of trying to keep up with the other girl.

I don't know. It's incredibly weird to witness. There's something wrong with watching Effy jog after someone. More so that 'someone' being Katie. They sure make an unusual pair. Just saying.

They're getting nearer, and the volume knob for Katie goes up a notch or two. By the time Katie's heels click-clacking on the concrete is audible Emily looks like she's going to shit herself.

"Don't worry, love. I've got an invisibility cloak," I say, trying to stifle a yawn. I'm too lazy to budge, really.

"Not funny, Naomi."

Emily takes me by surprise as she grabs me by my blazer in such a commanding way that I'm up in a second. We make a mad dash towards the parking area again. When I get there I'm a bit disoriented, a bit out of breath. I get even more flustered when Emily starts climbing into a big-ass pick-up truck that the owner conveniently left in combat parking.

And I think, '_Again?_' How many fucking times should I have to climb things today? Seriously, I've lost count.

Emily, with all her good, sweet intentions, motions for me to get the fuck in already. "Naomi," she demands, turning my name into something that very much resembles an order.

I let out a frustrated sigh and clamber in reluctantly, stumbling right after her. Emily and I have already silently agreed on a singular game plan to lie perfectly still until they're gone.

Much to our chagrin, they stop right in front of us. Like Fate was choosing a very bad time to play a very cruel joke on me and Emily. Katie complains about her heels and she's probably taking them off at she speaks. Why else would they be stopping?

"I'm not like that. Okay?" Katie says, sounding like she doesn't even want to have this conversation at all.

"I'm not either," Effy mirrors blankly.

Tough luck. It looks like they're staying around until they're through exchanging words. I raise an eyebrow at Emily, pulling off, what I think is the ultimate facial expression for _what the fuck_? Emily shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders. She doesn't have the slightest idea as well.

From the looks of it, Emily's eavesdropping the fuck out of their little chat. So it's only natural for me to follow suit. And besides, it isn't exactly fun to be the last in the know.

Effy speaks up. "Then why did you—"

Katie doesn't permit Effy to finish. "I just felt like it," she cuts in.

"You're unbelievable," Effy tells her. "And you used to give Emily a hard time."

Really, what's going on between these two? I'm incredibly intrigued. And what is Effy talking about? What does she mean by Katie giving Emily a hard time? A hard time about what?

And that must've hit Katie. It takes a moment or so before she suggests, with authority icing every word, that Effy should just _Cut the shit, now_.

"But—"

Katie interrupts again, not letting go of the upper hand just yet. "You love Freddie more... Okay. Like, I get it, Eff."

Emily and I lock eyes. I see confusion in them too.

Effy's probably as confused as Emily and I. She doesn't say anything after that. It's always been a given that Effy's the silent type. But it's because she doesn't like wasting her words. Effy's a poem like that. So it catches me by surprise when I sense that this kind of quiet from her has come about from an actual inability to come up with a response... even in her head.

There's a faint sound of someone clapping her hands together. I'm betting that was Katie. "Great" she says, not sounding like it all. "So can we please be friends now?"

I'm waiting to hear Effy's reply. But before I am rewarded with an answer, Emily abruptly declares that they're already long gone.

"I wonder what that was all about."

"I dunno. They're fighting over Freddie. I think"

"Over Lips?" I snigger before whistling him some sort of salute. "Wow. Freds is quite the Casanova," I say, unable to hide the fact that I'm a little blown away by this.

I realise that Emily's already gotten off the truck. I get up and find her waiting on the pavement. Emily catches my eye, and I could make out the sneaky glint in hers. "I bet you'd like that. Girls fighting over you."

When Emily Fitch fishes for a compliment it is only proper for one, as her extremely lucky girlfriend, to take the bait.

"Naaaw," I dismiss, pretending to find the idea of girls fighting over me unappealing. "I've already got my one and only. Haven't you heard? Panda practically married us off this morning."

She giggles. And it's awesome and I feel like they've pulled my name out of the lottery. "Well then, get yourself down here and walk me home."

Hook, line and sinker. And she's reeling me in because let's face it...

I'm the only fish she'd choose in her sea.

Fancying myself bold and cavalier, I literally jump out of the pick-up, landing not-so-gracefully beside her. As I'm straightening up, I try not to look so shaken.

"Shall we, Mrs Campbell?" I say. And like the perfect gentleman, I offer her my hand.

Emily breaks into the biggest grin before taking it. She looks so ecstatic, she must be breaking a world record.

* * *

Two streets away from her house, passing mailbox after boring mailbox, I interrogate her about her tee-theft.

"So..." I begin, curiosity getting the best of me. "You were wearing Porkie? You were wearing Porkie all along?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing. I thought you were wearing something… a little bit, I dunno, sexier underneath."

"Your pig shirt _is _sexy," she says in that 'as a matter of fact' tone people use on daft people.

It takes me by complete surprise. I look back at her blankly, feeling incredibly dense, really not understanding how Porkie suddenly shot his way into sexy-dom.

"You wore it on that day we went to the lake. I thought it was sexy as hell... So I nailed you," she says with that wicked-cheeky smirk she has.

There's a pause. A moment where I'm too dumbstruck to come up with a better response. Emily's outdone me on so many levels already.

"You fucked me because of my shirt? Oh geeze, that's nice to know. And here I was, thinking it was 'cause you loved me." I say theatrically, clutching my chest, failing magnificently at pretending to be hurt.

Emily snorts in response to my bad acting.

"Yeah, that too." She stops and turns so that she's in front of me. She stands on her tip-toes and kisses me again, to prove a point.

_Yeah, that too._

Oh, kill me now. I am _so_ in love with this girl.

When she pulls back, she tells me, in summary:

"Well, it _was_ sexy enough to get me to fuck you."

* * *

When we arrive at the Fitches, the first thing I notice is that all their lights are out. Save for the front door and the living room. Where Jenna and Rob must be waiting.

And we stand there on the pavement for a moment, looking up at her house. The wind is howling softly, sweeping our clothes from side to side.

Hey, this is a secret, yeah? I don't want anyone finding this out. Primarily because it's bordering lame... But walking her up to their front door is something I've really, really wanted to do but can only fantasise about.

It doesn't please me at all. That it's only on this crummy pavement that I get to kiss her goodnight.

I know it shouldn't be an issue or something. Because she's practically twenty steps away from her door. But it's just different knowing that you got her safely into her house. That you took it upon yourself to leave no room for danger to happen in those last twenty steps.

But whatever, if I don't want Jenna Fitch pouncing on me with a shovel it's best to be on my way.

Six steps later though, I come to an abrupt halt. I recall how much I wanted to have sex with her (Emily, you psycho, not Jenna). It comes to me just now, when she's about to go into the most restricted of areas. Right fucking convenient, my memory is.

Oh, fuck it. Wanking myself to sleep isn't my cup of tea tonight. Definitely not. I need her. It has to be her. So this night isn't over yet.

"Emily?" I call, turning around.

I'm relieved to find out that she hasn't moved as well. She's rooted to the same spot. Her eyes to the sky like she's asking God for something.

Whatever it is, I'm hoping it's something along the lines of sex.

Emily's face suddenly lights up upon hearing her name. "Yes?"

"Since you're wearing Porkie and all... Doesn't that entitle you to a night's worth of amazing sex?" I point out, as cool and casual as I can. Trying to not come off as hopelessly desperate.

She appears to be cross when she starts putting her hands on her hips. "Christ, and you're asking me this now?"

I nod at her. Innocent and expectant, like a silent, 'Yes, I'm asking you this now' and 'So what do you say to my offer of a all-lezzer willy-waggle?'

And in a flash, her features change. Now she's trying to ward off a big smile. But I spot it. The corners of her lips quirk up, traitorously. "Yeah, actually I was kind of hoping to get laid," she admits, taking slow, seductive steps towards me.

When she's near enough, I put an arm around her shoulders. And I take a moment to marvel at the feel of her arm snaking around my waist. She snuggles up against me and before I can even think about it I take her by the head and press my lips against her temple in a rather American-quarterback-hogging-his-cheerleader-girlfriend, possessive fashion.

We break apart and Emily tilts her head up to me. She seems to be utterly dazed by what I just did. I look back at her, sheepishly. Emily lets out a small laugh before leaning up to capture my lips with hers.

The kiss deepens quickly and just when I'm getting really into it, Emily pulls away. "As much as I love to keep snogging you out here, I believe we have plans, remember?"

Oh God. She's using that voice. You know, that low, husky one that always, _always_ manages to make me so horribly turned on.

"Right..." I drawl, willing myself back to reality. "Better get a move on then. We can't keep my bed waiting."

Emily moves forward, taking me with her, really intent on fulfilling that suggestion. "My thoughts exactly, love."

I might be taking her back to my humble abode. To my house. To my present address. To my place of residence. Or whatever you might want to call it. But honestly though, home for me now?

It's wherever Emily is.

* * *

**A/N:** Phew! Hue! Pikachuuu! Wasn't that really, really long? Agree? AGREE? And congrats to you, you've just read 8,500 plus words! Go buy yourself something nice! Or if you're broke but really flexible, pat yourself on the back! ;)

Thank you again for reading all of this. I appreciate it very much. And c'mon, I've just punched out THAT many words. You must be appreciating that too? Surely you guys have something to say. You know you want to. *tempts you with the review button*

But really, if you're reading this up to here, imma give you a ***BIGHUG!* **with extra chubbyloveyness!

**NEXT:** Lots of surprises and sure prizes in store! Mostly because I've only written a negligible amount of words for Chapter 7! All I can say is… more! More **NAOMILY**! MORE **KEFFY** (through ultra-cool Effy-goggles! Joyness!)! XD

And you, dear readers, should know by now that reviews are catalystic! 'Til Chap 7, then. Cheers! :D


	7. Chapter 7: Strange Bedfellows

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**: Hullo! I'm not dead! Just back from a monthlong hiatus. Divided narration again. Effy's back to clear things up for some people. You'll get to have a little Naomi in the end, so don't worry about not getting any exposure from them... XD

Okay, so I know it's been over a month since my last update (unacceptable! Unacceptable!) and I know I'm a total facking loser because of that. I apologise again for the delay. This chapter was difficult to write. Took me forever to get it right and it got pretty frustrating for me at many points. New semester at college got pretty shitty real fast. Busy. Busy busy. And the last thing that I want is for you guys to read a hurried update. So, anyway, I'm finally done with it. *VICTORY WARCRY!* And here's a prize for all your waiting. Another long one. And another long one in a week. I cut this original chap short because it was getting too long. Another long one in a week, that I can promise. Plus, I'll be posting a short one-shot soon. Be on the look-out for that one too. So yeah, extra treats for you! XD

Thanks to my readers who constantly review. I really love you guys. You know who you are. *happydances with you* Lovin' your love, people. :)

P.S. You can also blame the World Cup for eating up a shit-load of my time. Congratulations, Spain! XD

**Expect:** Fights and Flights! That's déjà vu to you! A Surprise Visit to Elizabeth's! Panda's back... with a proposal! And a Parental Unit in the form of Gina Campbell! She'll be handing out sex appeal advice (oh, you don't want to miss this). It'd be my pleasure for you to proceed! Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

_**by interpol..ice**_

****

Chapter 7: Strange Bedfellows

* * *

= = = ** **EFFY** ** = = =

Katie has spent half an hour sweeping the club, looking for the slightest signs of Emily or Naomi. That's half an hour of Katie thrashing about. Half an hour of being perched on top of a corner booth sofa, my legs (lady-crossed at the knees) snug between two couples who are eating each other's faces off. Half an hour of me, my gum and my chain-smoking, watching Katie tear her way through collective body heat.

And when Katie comes back to me, no Emily or Naomi in tow, that's half an hour wasted.

So now, Katie's red in the face and looking downright furious that it rattles me somewhat. Katie's as pissed off as pissed off can get. Like Panda's taken off her knickers and made them play Twister with her.

You know, getting them in even more of a twist.

When I finally catch Katie stationary, she's chatting up this burly-looking bloke. Possibly into opening the manhole cover. Because Katie's good at keeping that seduce, use, and dispose cycle in motion.

And I only recognise that because I'm fucking ace at that sick art as well. We have things in common, me and Katie.

* * *

I climb out onto the parking lot with what's-his-face eyeing me. And of course, like any other member of the primitive male species, he would be. I _know_ I'm fit. And between it being a gift or a curse to me, I'd say I haven't decided yet.

He gives me a predictable once-over, his stare staying a little too long at my tits. His eyes travel north and before they can reach my face, I hide behind my hair. He nods appreciatively (looking a tad constipated all the while). Sort of how Cook does it.

But no, at least Cook's an appealing shithead (appealing enough for me to fuck him). At least Cook can pull off being a tit.

I ignore him and the guy proceeds to look about for Katie. He spots the redhead making her way towards the main street. Figures. Like she'd wait up for me. Patience and decency don't exist in her vocabulary.

He whips toward her, reaching Katie in three, big strides. "Oi! Not so fast princess," he says, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around. And the instant he did that you just know that Katie's going to give this poor sod hell.

"Come on now, don't be such a cunt, babe. A simple sign of gratitude would suffice," he coaxes, trying to touch Katie's fucking _elbow_, giving Katie the incentive to swat his hand away. And you can hear it. The little _smack _the contact makes.

"_Thank you_," Katie complies in an irritated fashion. "You can fuck off now. Like, seriously, yeah?" she says, looking at him expectantly, pointing him to the manhole.

"I just gave you a hand. All I'm asking is for you to give me one in return," the boy huffs, red in the face. Possibly from the exertion. Possibly from Katie's impossibility.

"Sorry? A hand?" Katie asks, looking like she's tasted something vile.

The boy nods a yes with the most absurd grin on his face. Like he thinks he's the cleverest lad in all the land.

Katie throws her head back and she laughs this outrageous laugh that's so distinctly _Katie_. A conspiratorial smirk is on my lips as well. Oh, this fucker is going to get it.

She's making a fool out of him and this, of course, ticks the boy off. He says, in standard Class A hissy fit, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

So, in the end, this tosser gets what he asks for. Katie _does_ give him a hand.

(In the form of her fist flying faster than a speeding bullet.)

It's not exactly the one he was hoping for. And his face wasn't the exact body part he would've wanted that hand to have come into contact with. But still, a hand nonetheless.

What's-his-face is on the ground, clutching at his nose, yelping in pain.

Katie has violent tendencies. I attest. I attest.

And you know what they say about kicking them while they're down.

"I'm Katie fucking Fitch! Who the_ fuck _are you?"

Wow.

Just... Wow.

The wanker tries getting up but Katie stomps a foot on his chest so that he's pinned between cement and two-inch heel. She isn't done with him yet.

"What? Just because you got us out doesn't mean you're gonna get lucky tonight, fucking tosser. That's right, it takes more than that to get me to fuck you. Get that, Lancelot? Chivalry's dead."

Then she turns on her heel. She struts away. Fierce like it's Fashion Week in Parisian Hell.

* * *

I've given up temporarily, on getting her attention. She's been ignoring me and trying to shake me off ever since Emily's gone MIA.

She tries ringing Emily. "Where the fuck is she?" she asks no one in particular, holding her mobile against her ear with one hand and checking her nails on the other. When she's done making sure her manicure's still pristine, her face contorts. She must've realised that Emily has yet to answer.

"Bitch," Katie seethes.

She shoves her mobile back into her purse angrily, because she couldn't quite get it right the first time. Katie notes the empty street. "Why aren't there any fucking taxis?"

I lift my head off the lamppost I'm leaning against. Knowing very well that question wasn't directed at me either, but I answer anyway. "They've gone on strike," I reply, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Because an hour ago she was grinding her arse against me and now she's treating me like she didn't just stick her tongue down my throat. And it kind of sucks, you know, being smack dab in the middle of her mood swings.

What did I do this time?

She rolls her eyes at me and continues to sashay down the pavement. Like she has such a fucking purpose or something. And I just watch her. Feeling a sort of hopelessness. For some reason unknown to me, Katie refuses to listen to a word I say.

Further down the street, a car comes along and Katie disappears in an insanely bright light coming from it. It's all thousand-watt-too-fucking-bright for a quick moment and when the driver shifts into a low beam, my vision is restored. I find Katie's arm stretched. She has her thumb hitchhiker up.

I cross my arms, not liking the looks of this at all. I call out to her, "You don't know where some smarmy old twat is going to take you, okay?"

Oh, dear shite. I sound like I care.

Okay, now that everyone's on about women empowerment and chicks having grown a pair, girls have taken it upon themselves to be well-learned in the art of self-defence. So, the point is that in the present contemporary world, women are fucking tough.

I should know. I hit people in the head with rocks.

And so what if Katie could beat the absolute fuck out of anyone if she so chooses? It still wouldn't hurt to take extra caution every once in a while.

Especially in scenarios involving too-fast cars and faceless strangers.

God forbid something happens if I let her get in that vehicle.

So it comes to this moment when we just stare at each other. I plead silently, with my eyes. Because sometimes my big blues convey so much more than I could ever say.

For a second there, I see signs of her resolve breaking. But as predicted, her will to resist conquers anyway and she shakes her head, snapping herself out of it. "Whatever," Katie dismisses, her eyes following the flashy, silver Audi Sportback that's pulling in beside the pavement.

The heavily tinted front seat window rolls down so Katie leans into the opening to have words with the driver. A little while after, Katie retracts, turns around to throw me a smug look. "Cheers Eff," she says, reaching for the door handle.

That's it. I charge my way over to the stupid Audi like a woman possessed.

Just as the car door's a quarter open, I slam it back shut with a kick. Katie stares dumbly at her hand suspended in mid-air for a second and then her head snaps towards me, looking absolutely scandalised.

I don't care that I acted out of line. I don't care if the driver's screaming something really shitting crude at us (I don't know what it is exactly but it sure has the words _fuck_, _door_, _paint_, _car_, _scratch_, and _bitch_). I don't care if Katie doesn't even want my help. I just don't fucking care.

It just happens. I grab her by the wrist and Katie starts struggling against my grip. But I hold on tighter, instinctively. Jesus, I don't know what it is about her that gets me this way.

And I think I don't ever want to find out.

The driver rolls his windows back up and he throttles out into the next universe. And Katie watches this, helpless. She turns back to me, and I naturally come to think, 'if looks could kill...'

"What the fuck? I need to get home!"

"And what makes you so sure he was going to take you there?" I ask hastily, trying to keep her still. But then she doubles her effort, her free hand grabbing at my arm, desperately trying to pull it off.

"Since when did you start caring about my safety?"

How about when I almost killed you? How's that for caring?

"Oh, fuck you! I'm trying here, Katie. Open your eyes. Maybe then you'd actually see that I do, in fact, give a fuck."

And after that... it's quiet.

Katie: human dynamo extraordinaire, Fitch fireball, she freezes at my outburst. And it takes some time for me to get used to the static, to the stillness. My stomach drops and my head feels as if someone's giving it a good thrashing and _shit_—-this exponentially growing anxiety is something I just _can't_ deal with right now.

"Fuck's sake, Eff. You've done enough already. Look at me. What have I got left? You just love this, don't you? You love seeing me miserable," she says. And it sort of hurts, listening to the way she's keeping her voice from cracking.

So that's what she's been thinking? All this time? That I'm a fucking sadist? Great. That's just real nice of her now, isn't it? "That's not true," I let out feebly. It being the only answer I could come up with.

"Oh, yeah?" she snaps. "Everybody else has left me alone. I'm expecting you to fuck off now as well."

My grip goes slack. She takes advantage of this and pulls her arm out of my hold, giving me a defiant look afterwards.

And if this were any other lifetime, I wouldn't have known better. I would've fucking left. But this isn't any other lifetime. I do know better. In fact, I know too much. And I know what this look is. It's a chink in her armour.

This look from her. It's what gives her away. She's probably unaware about what she's doing, but despite the big show of pushing me away, she's actually daring me. Daring me to stay.

So I'll just have to take her up on that.

* * *

Taxi count so far: nil. Thus the five blocks Katie and I have covered in complete silence. No talk of directions or destinations, no sounds from us. It's just the night making its usual hum.

* * *

The pavement.

It's on the fucking pavement where it happens. Where Katie stops to look at the playground across the street. Where she gets this look on her face that tells me she's reliving a memory of her youth.

The pavement.

It's here where I'm reminded that Katie Fitch is a really, really attractive girl.

My eyes are trained on her lips. Because I feel she's about to say something and I'm here, just _waiting_ for whatever it is.

"Our lives were never wheels. 'Sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down.' That sort of shit? Well, me and Emily... We're a seesaw."

That's a strange metaphor. One that I hope she'd explain to me sometime soon. Katie misses Emily, though. That much is obvious.

It has gotten really cold and we're both hugging ourselves for warmth. I start shaking, thinking I could use a sweater just like Katie's. But then she does something that's very funny. I honestly don't what was going on through her head for her to abruptly pull the sweater's collar over her nose in an act I can only perceive as Katie smelling her twin's sweater.

Katie's button-nose and her mouth pop back out again. She has this faraway look in her eyes. Her voice is distant, head completely else. "I was only up when she was down."

She doesn't say it or anything. But now, I'm sure I get her message.

Emily's up. Way up. And this time, Katie's the one who has to give way. Katie's the one who has to stay down.

"I'm pretty shit, you know. For treating her that way for years."

She looks up at me, like she expects me to accept that as the truth. That she's 'pretty shit'. Or to come up with some type of comfort. That she _isn't_ 'pretty shit'... just pretty.

I know this is the part where I have to say something right.

But that's proving to be a problem. It's just that Katie's being too raw, too honest, being too vulnerable and beautiful. How could I not want to...

* * *

It catches the both of us by surprise. That I'm kissing her without the slightest bit of reservation.

But I shouldn't be. Surprised, I mean. Not when all that went through my mind the whole night was if she'd still taste the same. Mint and alcohol sting. A sharp tang that almost cuts. That almost hurts.

When I try to I push my luck by trying to part her lips with my tongue, she pushes me away.

To be real honest, I didn't anticipate her to react that way. I scold myself for not seeing it coming.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Katie yells once her mouth is free of mine. She shoves me away roughly. Rough enough that I lose my balance, a sudden mess of flailing limbs. It's a good thing that I pelt forward while stepping a foot back at the same time (increasing my centre of shitting gravity, just so you know). Otherwise, I would've fallen flat on my arse.

It's horrible. She's walking away and I'm panicking and I don't know what to fucking do so I'm just standing there, shouting things that I might not remember in the morning.

I scramble after her, my boots suddenly feeling very chunky, hitting each other between every step. "Katie, wait," I call. "Look, I didn't mean to—"

Katie whips around, fires her words like bullets. "Go away, you psychotic, twat-fucking, bimbo tramp."

I have to ignore her insults. It's not going to solve anything. I fucking have to.

"Katie, please. Please, can you just stop and fucking listen?"

"Just so we're clear," she starts dangerously, trying to cut me open with her eyes. I'm not shaken. I cut her back with a stare just as hard. I want to know...

_What? What do you want us to be clear about, Katie?_

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. But then she settles with a purse of her lips, completely stopping herself from saying those things I wanted so badly to know.

I watch in disbelief as her shoulders slump. Katie then tells me, in an unreal, dismissive manner, "Please, Eff... Please leave me be. Just turn around and keep walking. Don't stop 'til you see the fucking sun rise."

I pull my lips back in, believing it best to shut up. Then, I don't mean to, but I shake my head from side to side once. A slow and slight left-to-right. So subtle, you would've missed it.

Katiekins didn't miss that though. She caught that full-fucking-on.

Katie rolls her eyes the same time she breathes in a lungful. She holds it, and stares back at me with narrowed eyes, menacingly, ready to release something that's going to catch me off my guard again. So I brace myself. And I really think that I could take whatever it is she's going to throw at me... well, that is until she growls.

Katie Fitch fucking growls.

And it paralyses me like I'm a fucking Pokémon.

Bollocking shit.

Shit.

_Shit._

By the time I regain any sort of rationality back, Katie's already across the street, passing by the swing-sets at a hurried pace.

Move, Stonem. Get off your arse. Fucking _move _already!

I bolt after her, on the other side of the street in a heartbeat. Once I'm near enough I make an effort to be quiet, trying to slow down my heavy breathing, trying to mute my footsteps. But she senses that I'm still hot on her tail anyway so she swings round to face me again.

"Fucking... Just lay off, for God's sake!" she shouts hysterically, before running off in the opposite direction.

And my, she runs fast for a girl who has two-inch heels on.

I call out her name the way you would if you saw someone too close to the edge of a lethal drop. Or someone you saw stepping right into the path of a fucking two-storey bus.

And just in time, right as we round the parking lot, divine intervention happens. Katie's left heel gives way. Her ankle buckles and she stumbles to the side before catching herself at the last possible moment.

"Oh great, fantastic. Bust down on me now, would you?" Katie says to her shoes like they have little ears that could actually listen. "Fucking inconvenience," she mutters under her breath, bending down to slip her Louboutins ("Should've known these were fake.") off. "Such a shitty night."

Katie sighs, tired and fed up. Tells me, right away, "I'm not like that. Okay?"

Not gay, she must mean.

"I'm not either," I return, too defensive-sounding for my liking.

Just because I kissed her back. Just because I'd like to kiss her again. Just because I _did _try to kiss her again. Fuck that. I'm not a raging lesbian now or anything.

And I realise, a bit too late, that the same thing goes for Katie.

_Stop being stupid, Stonem. Just because she kissed you doesn't mean she's a lesbian either_.

It's exceedingly frustrating. That I can't figure out her motives. I'm not getting her right. Not reading her right.

So I can't do anything but ask, really. Because it doesn't make sense to me at all. One minute we were fine, the next she's telling me to wank off elsewhere. I just don't get it.

"Then why did you—"

She interrupts, raises her voice so that it drowns out the last words: kiss me. And Katie says simply, with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders, "I just felt like it." In a tone that seems to make her answer more reasonable. Because it (her answer) wasn't enough of that (reasonable) to start with.

_Just felt like it_? No. No shitting way. Fuck you, Katie Fitch.

"You're unbelievable," I puff out. To make things even worse, against my better judgment I add, "And you used to give Emily a hard time."

For being gay. For fucking Naomi. For kissing a girl. Katie, you fucking hypocrite.

And I know that I've struck a chord. Katie stops dead. And you can see all these subliminal emotions play across her face.

"Cut the shit. Now."

She says it with this... finality. And I don't know what's wrong with me because here she is, handing out a shit-load of hints and I just couldn't fucking take any.

I persist. "But—" (get shot down _again_)

"You love Freddie more..." she says, like an accusation. It's out of the blue. Out of every fucking shade of it. I mean, what the fuck does _he_ have to do with anything? Really, what?

_Everything_, the secret, honest part of me whispers.

Right away, I tell that part to shut up.

And I do shut up. I can't say a thing.

"Okay. Like, I get it, Eff," she says to me, gently, like someone's flicked a switch off in her somewhere. And I don't fucking know how to react to that.

Katie claps her hands together and that gets me out of my head. "Great," she says, tinged with a fake kind of chipper. She goes the extra mile, proposes, "So can we please be friends now?"

She isn't even smiling.

And for fuck's sake. I wish she'd at least _sound _like she means it.

Okay then, if this is how she wants to play it... Surface-level chums. Then that's fine by me. My punishment, after all, is that Katie gets to make the rules.

I start going forward. And it isn't long before she's padding up beside me, barefoot. She's carrying her broken-down shoes in one hand and placing the other one on my shoulder. "Friends, yes?"

You know, I find it insanely hilarious. That if a robber came up and put a knife against my throat and asked, "Your money, yes?" I wouldn't notice the difference.

"Come on, Katie," I say, chuckling. "Let's get you home."

I take her hand off my shoulder and make her hook arms with me. And even though Katie seems somewhat apprehensive about it, she lets me do it. "You don't even know where I live."

"Course I don't," I reply, having thoughts about our linked arms. It's only now that I finally appreciate how _soft_ Emily's sweater is. Then I say to Katie, with the most wicked grin I have in my arsenal, "Exactly why I'm counting on you to lead the way... _friend._"

Katie's eyebrows rise comically. She then breaks into an easy laugh. Look at her, and all the acts she's putting up, attempting to hide the fact that I just got her absolutely smitten.

Like I said, everyone loves me.

"Fine," she concedes. "But _you _carry my shoes." Katie says, dumping her heels into my arms.

* * *

The Fitches live in Number 11. Eleven. I find it fascinating how this symmetry follows them about. First they get 11 in their address. A perfectly symmetrical number. Next, they have twins, a perfect example of biological symmetry.

And you'd think that they'd all live in everlasting harmony because of that. It's such a pity though, that this symmetry isn't helping with their whole family chi at all.

"So like... This is where I live," she says, motioning blandly at the house with her hand.

"And Emily," I supply, feeling a bit of an idiot for telling her that in a reminding tone. Kind of, _oh you have another arm, you know_. _That_ kind of reminding tone.

"Right," Katie says, drawing it out unsurely. Like this moment could be a hundred times more awkward than it already is. "I'm going in then, see you around," she tells me, taking out her keys (they're jingling in a way that doesn't remind of Christmas at all).

This it then? _See you the fuck around_? Is that all Katie?

"Wait, this isn't fair."

Katie stops at the doorknob and sighs. The line of her shoulders she held with such conviction is gone and replaced by a defeated drop. She turns back towards me, arms crossed, round face looking like that of a child's.

"When's it ever going to be fair, Effy?" she asks me. And from the looks of it, she knows exactly what the answer is.

Maybe it's never supposed to be fair. Not with Katie. It's never been fair with Emily. With anyone. Life's a seesaw. You stay up at someone else's expense.

I should at least try, though. At least, in the future, I'd be able to say that I did everything I could on that night.

So I gulp down my nervousness, my hesitance, my scared-shittedness. Because, fuck it, I'm at this girl's doorstep and there's this one last thing that I have to do. And I tell her when it's going to be fair again.

"When I apologise. Properly."

Katie steps toward me curiously, showing me that she'd like to hear me out.

"I don't want this to be a lousy one-off. I want us to still be mates tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. I need to know you and I... That we're okay."

Katie stands there, studying me with hard eyes. Then, with a casual shrug of her shoulders, she says to me, "Go ahead then."

Which catches me completely off guard. Again. "What? Now?"

"Yes. When else?"

Right. When else?

A pause. And still, nothing from me.

"So?"

So... The most expectant of so's.

"So I'm sorry."

It wasn't given enough pre-meditation than I would've liked it to. So it comes out lamely. Flat. Like a plane that didn't have enough road for take off.

Technically, I sort of blew it just then. I pretty much expect Katie to yell at me again before slamming her (and Emily's, I supply, out of fucking _habit_ now) front door in my face.

This time around though, Katie just shuts her eyes tight, drowned in an intense concentration. It takes her about five to think everything through and when she seems to have settled on a decision, she squares her shoulders.

Katie opens her eyes, looks softly into mine, and she says "I forgive you."

I don't believe it. I want to but I don't. "That simple?"

A look of disbelief is on her face. "Yes," she says, almost sounding annoyed. "Yes, I forgive you, silly cow."

And I dunno. This was too easy. I can't possibly be let off the hook like this. It just can't fucking be.

"You have a pretty twisted way of showing it," I remark, different sorts of incredulous.

"Yeah, because twisted suits you," she says, with a trace of s smirk. "It suits us."

Us. She just said _us. _Fuck me but I don't even know what to make of that.

Katie takes a couple steps forward until she's right in front of me, close enough that I could see the brown of her eyes. "I forgive you, Eff," she says, before kissing me lightly on the cheek (that shouldn't be burning this way after she did that).

She pulls away, looking back at me amused. Perhaps it's my speechlessness. Katie's smiling this lopsided smile that I never get to see on her and it instantly comforts me. After that, Katie says, "Remember, we're cool now. We're mates."

I can't come up with a sound response. So she hugs me, like she hasn't hated me for the past nine months. "We're mates now," she repeats like she reckons I didn't get it on the first run. She's hugging me tight and warm. And she's so soft. Unbelievable.

We let go of each other slowly. I study her face, the changes in it. And in her lips I can see that whatever shit that's gone on between us is accounted for and stored away someplace only God knows (just like receipts). Everything about her says, 'It's okay now.'

That's when I'm finally struck by the reflex to smile.

I spot a shift in her eyes. They're dancing. Like a lava lamp of many brown hues. It amazes me how easy it is to drop into this light and happy mood. With her, of all people...

I'm floating. I'm glad. Exhausted but glad.

And so is Katie because she's yawning with the corner of her lips up. Katie looks around, sees that it's still very dark, then takes her phone out, checks the time. "It's late. Late in the sense that it's too early," she says with a small, tired smile.

"I'd let you sleep in, you know. But Mum's gonna think I'm joining the lezza bandwagon as well. Wouldn't want to risk that," Katie says to me, looking truly apologetic that it warms my heart a bit. Just a bit...

Katie is backing away slowly. "You better get going."

"You're right, I should."

"Thanks," she says, shyly.

"You're welcome."

"Now fuck off."

A few steps into the 'fuck off' phase, I remember one thing.

"Hey!" I call, turning around. I see her standing at the open doorframe.

"Seriously Katie, you should stop with the leopard print. It makes people dizzy and confused. I mean, you did see what it made Cook do, didn't you?"

She flashes me a smile that's too-sweet-that-it-isn't-sweet-anymore and in typical Katie Fitch fashion, she flips me off.

So this is what it's like then? Being real friends with this girl.

This.

This I could use.

* * *

I snap my book of Greek mythology shut, not being able to read it as attentively as I wanted to. It's late in the morning and I haven't slept a wink. Been up thinking of other stuff, wanting to distract myself.

Well, it hasn't worked.

I thought I'd feel settled. But everything that happened last night and earlier this morning made things even more incomprehensible. Why'd she kiss me? What was with all her mood swings? Why did I kiss her again? And what exactly did she mean when she mentioned Freddie?

Too many questions. Too many fucking variables to manipulate.

Then my door opens out of some unknown accord that reveals itself to me a second later as Katie Fitch. She's already well-rested and well-showered and as always, well-dressed.

Well, I don't mean to be insecure or anything, but I'm not _any _of those things at the moment. So, as you can see, Effy Stonem isn't that awesome in the mornings.

"Hi Effy! A pleasant morning to you!" she greets me brightly, sweeping her gaze around Tony's room right after.

"How'd you know where I live?" I ask, saying that instead of pleasantries because this, in fact, is like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh please, everyone knows where you live, alright?" Katie informs me, eyeing the wall behind me (the 'Daily Sex' vandal brings so much of my character to Tony's room).

And then Thomas and Panda (the truth-bearers) arrive. And Thomas... Well, Thomas is piggybacking Panda.

Oh. Of course.

Hansel and Gretel. Left their trail of breadcrumbs like the clever children they were raised to be.

I give Katie a _for a second, you got me there_ look. She just smirks at me in return. She caught me off guard for a moment, she's smug about that. And we all know that wasn't the first time she's gotten me like that.

Oh, Katie. So full of surprises.

"Mornin', Eff!" Panda cheers, throwing her hands up in the air, then she starts wobbling above Thomas who is now making a supreme effort to keep the both of them from falling all over each other. Looks like he wasn't ready for Panda's sudden, enthusiastic movements.

"G'morning to you too, Panda." I greet back. Thank God she's got her arms around Thomas again. Because she might've fallen and whacked her head against the many sharp corners of the room. And Panda going any crazier than she already is... well, that's just unthinkable.

I lower my gaze and focus on Thomas. He's breathing a bit audibly and his lips are dry. Could use a little water or something. "Thomas," I nod. He mirrors my greeting back at me with his eyes closed and when he opens them I immediately give him a questioning look.

"She wanted me to do the piggyback," Thomas explains. Maybe he thinks that it's normal here in England. For boyfriends to piggyback their eighteen-year-old girlfriends up an entire flight of stairs. Clearly, somebody needs to show this boy where the borders of sanity are.

"Right," I say, still thinking that he really needs to drink something. "Hey, Thomas, if you want, there's still plenty of juice in the fridge," I start, getting up with intentions of pouring him a glass or two.

"No, it's alright. You don't need to get up, Effy," he insists.

"Oh, well then. You can help yourself, right Thomas? Fridge is in the kitchen."

Thomas nods, taking in my instructions. After Panda dismounts him (reluctantly) he opens the door out, faces me, says, "Thank you," before leaving in an understandable rush.

I turn to Panda, "What's up, Panda Pops?"

"I wanted to see you, silly!" Panda answers, smacking me playfully on the shoulder. "Oh! And we ran into Katie at the pharmacy."

"What were you doing in the pharmacy?" I ask, directing it at whoever would answer first.

Panda proves she's extra alert, speaking up before Katie can. "Got Tommo to buy some cream. Useful stuff, that. Besides being excellent for wanks, it's actually a pretty wow way to keep your nipples safe. Read that on _Cosmo_."

"Sorry?" Katie cuts in suddenly. "Did you just say nipples?"

"Yeah, I just said nipples. I can even say nipples in French! Tommo taught me! Anyway, he's training for a 15 mile race! That means _a lot _of friction is going to be generated from his shirt to his nipples. Chaffed nipples are a no-no!"

In the battle against nipple chafe, Panda's fucking commander in chief. Friends, that there's what you call, 'dedication'.

Panda's lost in her own thoughts for a while. When she does finally zone back in, she addresses Katie, "Hey, Katie. Why were you at the pharmacy again?"

Katie, who has taken the seat at Tony's study corner, looks dumbstruck for a moment. "Umm. Well... We ran out of vitamin C. I went out to buy some."

Something's off. It's in the way she refuses to look at either of us. And Panda senses it too. Chooses to dismiss it instead because she finds flinging herself onto my bed so much more interesting.

"Eff! I've got a proposition!" she squeals, looking at me with round eyes. I know that face. She's going to ask for a crazy favour.

"Out with it, Panda Pops," I demand, wanting to know where this is going.

Panda sucks her lips in, as if she gains power from that. "I was thinking we go visit Lizzy Poo. You, me, Tommo... Katie too if she wants." She shifts on the bed to face Katie. "Would you like to come, Katie? It's gonna be loads swell! My Auntie Lizzie has a cheetah-skin couch. I think you'd like that."

Katie looks unsure but says, "Sure, I'd love to," anyway.

I haven't even given my consent yet and she's already inviting the rest of the Brady Bunch. Real sweet of you, Panda.

"Doesn't your aunt live like, really far away?" I question.

"Yeah, 'bout that. See, I was also thinking that you could drive us there. It's all sorted. Auntie Lizzie's going to cover for gas and everything... All expenses paid, Eff. _Hakuna Matata_, no worries!"

I frown disbelievingly at her. "She said that?"

"Yes, she really did," she answers impatiently. "You know I can't come up with that shit on my own, Eff." Then she must remember that she's asking for a favour because her expression turns imploring. "Please, please, please? With cherries, sprinkles and a pizza pie on top?"

It's fun to watch Panda squirm in anticipation. My best friend's an over-grown child. It makes life less bleak... and rather fucking wonderful.

"What the heck," I start, noting how Panda's mad grin has affected me. "We could all use some time in the country."

At that, Panda whoops and gets to her feet. She starts bouncing. "Whizzer! Whizzer! Whiiiz-zer! You're the best, Eff!" she says, jumping up and down on my bed like it's _obviously a trampoline_.

While she's busy testing the limits of my mattress springs, I get an idea. "Hey, why don't we invite Emily and Naomi as well?" I suggest, holding Katie's stare while I'm at it because I know she'd want for Emily to come too.

Panda stops bouncing. She face-palms herself with such comic finesse that I allow myself to chuckle. "Of course, Emily and Naomi! Oh Eff, I never got to tell you Tommo and I had a dandy double date with them just last night!"

She pauses to close her eyes, as if memories of the previous evening are flashing behind her eyelids. She sighs happily. "Good times, good times."

As Panda's doing this, Katie catches my stare. We exchange entertained smiles. And this change in disposition... it feels as if Katie and I have overcome something.

Panda's eyes snap open, telling me she's done with her trip down memory lane. "Good thing you brought them up. Otherwise I'd have forgotten completely. Blasted memory's as sharp as a fucking chew toy."

This is why I love Panda. To bits and fucking pieces.

"Cool," I say, my hand digging under the covers, searching for my phone. I pull it out and quickly thumb in their invite.

"There, just sent them a text. All sorted."

The door flies open, then Thomas appears, bursting into the room like he's fucking _on something_. He turns to me, looking incredibly guilty. He starts apologising for drinking up all the mango juice.

I tell him it's fine. Panda tells him I agreed to drive them to Aunt Lizzie's. Katie tells him that she, Emily and Naomi are coming along as well.

Thomas' collective answer to all three of us? Well, weirdly channelling Panda with this sort of new-found high that I can probably just attribute to the mango juice, he blurts out:

"Aunt Lizzie's the best! She makes ripper scones!"

* * *

= = = ** **NAOMI** ** = = =

_Pop!_

Fucking toaster. It probably thinks it's a bad-ass missile launcher. You're not supposed to fucking chuck the bread out onto the kitchen tile, you sorry excuse of a kitchen appliance.

I pick the two crispy slices up and I blow at them as if that would reduce their germ percentage or whatever. I figure, 'fuck it' then I place them carefully on a plate.

Then I check the eggs. They're lovely. And not just because they're heart-shaped.

If you really want to know, I woke up this morning feeling very much in love (you all know who to blame). So I decided to try out those stupid heart-shaped moulds Mum so happened to win at this silly game at a carnival two months ago.

"Fucking hell," I mumble, sniggering at the frying pan. Can't exactly help laughing at the looks of them, you know. I would very much like to take a picture and have it framed and hang it above my future fireplace. That's how perfectly ridiculous these eggs are looking.

Oh fuck. Those sound like footsteps. Someone's awake. I just hope to God it isn't...

"Mum!" I cry out in relief, thanking Lord Almighty it's not Emily.

"Cripes, kitchen smells marvelous! Aww, love, making breakfast for the lot of us. How decent of you. My, have I raised you right."

"This is Emily's," I say, instantly shattering her "my spawn is making me breakfast" dreams.

"Hmmm. So she _is _here. Because I wasn't really sure if you snuck her home again. Then again, it _was_ a bit loud in your room this morning. And it _did_ sound like someone fell off the bed. Was that you, darling?"

"You can shut up now, Mum."

(And yes, that _was_ me.)

Mum comes over and stands right behind me. She peeks over my shoulder and I immediately want to die of embarrassment because this isn't just some tiny test paper you could shield your body with from some wanky cheat who copies off of everyone's Maths homework.

"Heart-shaped sunny side-ups!" she exclaims. Kind of like that time when I brought home my Arts and Crafts project and she went, "A cardboard tube giraffe!"

At least back then, being able to make cardboard giraffes was sort of like a big deal. I mean, these are just eggs. And besides them being heart-shaped, they're actually pretty normal and not the stuff of fuss-overs.

If only Mum could get with the program...

"That's just lovely, dear. And they're all intact! I always fuck the yolk up. Didn't know you had it in you, Naomi."

They're done cooking and Mum slips the plate of toast conveniently into my field of vision, making it easy for me to get a hearty (pun had to happen, mate) helping of eggs on it.

Okay, so maybe _I could_ use a little maternal help.

I shut the stove off then take the plate from Mum and carefully set it at the middle of the breakfast tray. When I'm done slaving over every little detail, I straighten up and consider the set-up, double-checking to see if I missed anything.

Mum beats me to it, though. "Emily prefers marmalade, like Paddington Bear."

Upon hearing that, I lunge for the cabinet containing all our preserves. I gingerly take out a jar half full (a testament to Emily's preference) and rush back to the tray, removing the raspberry jam from the ensemble and replacing it with the orange marmalade.

I shoot Mum a thankful grin for proposing the switch. She's made breakfast for Emily and me way too many times already. And since she's already here and all, might as well take whatever advice I can from the master. I hold the tray up for further (and more superior) inspection.

"Sunny D, loaded with sugar and additives—-what have I told you about Inorganic Food? Really fucking synthetic, that... Nonetheless, still sunshine in a glass. So, orange juice, check. Bacon and eggs, check. Bread and butter, check. Marmalade, check." She pauses, eyeing a certain member of the meal curiously. "Sausages?"

"What? Emily likes sausages."

"Why, of course she does," she says, flashing me a knowing smile.

"Mum, please stop with the phallic symbols and shit," I say whilst keeping still, careful not to spill 'sunshine in a glass' over everything.

"Well, you seem to have it all covered. Hurry along then, your lady awaits."

Oh God, must she keep teasing me like this? I mean, _I am _grateful that she's in love with the fact that Emily and I are in love... but there's such a thing as _too much_ support and acceptance, you know? She hangs a fucking rainbow-coloured flag outside our house for Christ's sake. Who else in Bristol does that?

I'm telling you, mum's a complete nutter about it sometimes. I have a sneaking suspicion that she conceived me especially to be her bouncing baby gay.

I try to move away as fast as I can. It's too early for Mum to be making me feel this weird.

"Wait!"

I pause, not risking to turn around. "What is it now?" I whine.

She appears beside me, carrying a vase full of fake roses (that the naked guy forgot to take along with him). She pulls out the longest one and I'm about to protest against any more of her corny ideas before she places the stem between my teeth to shut me up and to "up your sex appeal a couple more notches" at the same time.

Awww, Christ.

Remember what I said about maternal help? Well, I'd like to fucking take that back now, thank you very much.

"You're good to go now, kiddo."

* * *

My fingers can't seem to contain their excitement. They're already mid-digit-deep in the curtains, sensitive to the heat making its way through the window. I grab fistfuls of the cotton and yank the two sides farther apart, letting the sunlight stand in as a silent alarm clock. I pick the tray up from the desk I've left it on and make my way to the side of my bed.

With her breakfast in hand, and a swell in my chest, I watch _my_ sun rise.

She groans and stretches her arms out, kicking the sheets off while she's at it. Then she proceeds to roll over a couple of times and it's so adorable that I really want to get on that bed and cuddle with her like no tomorrow. Tempting as it is, I brush the fantasy aside. I wait until she's done with her ritualistic morning exercise before setting the breakfast tray on the bed.

Emily takes one look at me and laughs. It must be the fake rose that's stuck in between my teeth

So much for upping my sex appeal...

She sounds a little sleepy so I take the flower out of my mouth and tickle her face with it, into a higher state of consciousness. "Wakey, wakey," I say in fucking sing-song all of a sudden.

"Alright, alright. I'm up," she assures me so I stop harassing her with the fake rose and use it to point at the awesome meal I've set beside her instead.

"Breakfast in bed." she observes. And that wide grin of hers tells me how much I've made her happy just now. "Kinky," Emily says to me with a wink, her voice an extra kind of hoarse that I absolutely love.

She sits up to fix her hair, tucking red trails behind her ears. She picks up a piece of toast with the egg sitting gloriously on top of it. Emily studies it with intrigued eyes. "Heart-shaped eggs. You love me _that _much, eh?"

"Guilty as charged, Ems," I say humourously, grabbing her other piece of toast. I slap a generous amount of marmalade on it already.

Emily giggles happily before crunching into the egg-toast combo. She starts chewing and I'm sitting there already content with watching the way her mouth moves. How her jaw tenses up. Or how those breadcrumbs stick to her lips. Fuck, do I want to lick them off.

She swallows. Then smiles and says to me, "Yum."

_Yum._

Emily takes another bite. "I always love how you do me—" she stops suddenly, in mid-chew. She plays back what she just said, gulps guiltily and then, "I mean, _my eggs_. Yeah, I love how you do my eggs."

I laugh as I brush her hair back to uncover her ear. I kiss it and keep my lips there, whispering, "You're really fucking lovely, you know."

She swallows again. Only harder this time. Hard enough that I could hear it.

My phone goes off all of a sudden and the both of us turn our heads to the disturbance that has stopped vibrating on the bookshelf. I get up, careful not to make the bed shift so much, mindful of the fruits of my sweat and tears on the tray.

I reach the shelf, grab my phone and read the message.

**:: in 4 an xcursion? pandas place. noon. bring ur wife. ::**

Okay, confession: It was really hard holding back a grin when I read, "bring ur wife." It just makes my heart fucking huge, you know. Oh, Elizabeth Stonem, you are such a supportive friend. I might even make you my Best Man someday (in June, because Emily says it's a lucky month to marry in).

Emily must've noticed my expression. It sparks her curiosity. "Who's it from?"

"Effy," I reply, setting my phone back on the shelf. Emily raises her eyebrows, a silent question. So, to answer, I say, "She has a surprise for us."

Her mouth is full but she still asks, "Really? What?"

"I said 'surprise', Emily. Means 'I have no fucking clue' in case you didn't know."

Emily's looking pretty sly as she takes Rocco, the raccoon beanie baby, off the headboard. I kind of predict that she'd fling it at me so I duck just in time and it knocks my fake cricket trophy (that I never really cared about) down instead.

"You have shit aim," I tell her, straightening up once the coast is clear. I stick my tongue out.

"Oh, well, lucky you then," Emily says, back to eating her toast in peace.

As much as I'd like to stay here and have Emily to myself all day, it'll be noon in two hours. Emily and I have to get ready if we want to make it in time.

So I take off my Andy Warhol tee (the one with all the soup cans bearing my last name) right then and there and I'm quite pleased that Emily's ogling at my tits. Soon enough, her tongue comes darting out to moisten her lips, like she's real hungry for something.

"Eat up, Ems," I say, grabbing the last piece of marmalade-laden toast. I take a teasing bite. Then I make that sound very much like the people on cooking programmes make when they're tasting the crap that they magically pull out from under the counter. You know, those bordering-inappropriate moans and groans while they're munching on fucking _Christmas Ham _like somebody's giving them the fuck of their lives on national television.

I still get such a kick when I get Emily like this. It's so unbelievable. She's that kid with the glazed eyes, looking into the window of a sweetshop, wishing and waiting.

Emily's mouth is slightly ajar so I think it funny to plug it shut with the toast. Her teeth sink in obediently and she grabs hold of the toast herself. I let go, playfully ruffling her hair afterwards, as if to say, 'good girl'. Then I hop off the bed to head for the bathroom.

"I'll be in the shower. Knock if you want to join the party."

****

* * *

****

A/N: Done and done! Phew! Hope that wasn't too dragging for you all! Review if you've been missing me! XD I'll be updating in a week. In the meantime, drop me your love, drop me your hate, or whatever random thing you want to tell me (like what you had with your coffee this morning, that kind of shit) because I'd love to know how you guys are. Thanks for the time and the read! *BIGHUGS everyone!*

**NEXT:** Another visit to Elizabeth's! The other Elizabeth... Panda's flesh and blood! **PEOPLE** getting **DOWN** and **DIIIIRTY** and **WET** (... pseudo smut ...)! Experience the magic that Auntie Lizzie's country pile can offer. Can you feel it, kids? Chapter 8 is gonna be great!

Be back before you know it, bbs. :D


	8. Chapter 8: StrangeR Bedfellows

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T, especially this chap)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**: I know I said that I'd get this to you within a week but real life happened and I had so much shit to deal with the past few weeks so I hope you guys can forgive me for being a lying scumbag and not updating as promised. And I'm also very aware this is like _beyond_ late but I pray that you guys haven't forgotten about this story. I'm doing my best getting it done, bbs. For all your waiting, here's the latest chap! Hot off the figurative grill! Let's see if it makes up for my two-month absence!

**Expect:** A COUNTRY GETAWAY in which people DRINK WEED and get SCONED for teatime! Find out which naughty couple's going to GET SOME while they're visiting. PANDA'S AUNT ELIZABETH FTW! And of course, all the cute and sexy that I can pack into a single chappie. Oh, right! And the color GREEN! Have super fun reading, bbs! :D

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
__****  
by interpol..ice**

****

Chapter 8: StrangeR Bedfellows

* * *

= = = ** **NAOMI** ** = = =

Green. It's the first thing that comes to mind when I see Effy's 'surprise'. Panda's mother's sister's estate is very, very, _very _green. I'm fucking serious. Like acres and acres of pure, unadulterated greenery.

I wasn't expecting this at all. I was expecting humble cottage along the country-side. Not rich-looking land with a Country House that gives me the strong impression that it was sliced off a really big castle.

Panda bounces up and down on the seat beside me, all uncontainable enthusiasm. "Welcome to my Auntie Lizzie's country pile!"

I catch Effy's stare trained on me through the rear-view mirror. She shoots me a wink.

I thought this was going to be an adventure. Not a mandatory visit to Panda's stuck-up aunt who's probably just one of those prim and proper control-Nazi-freak types. I could already hear her asking us to take our shoes off and politely coercing everyone into wearing mad biohazard suits. Hell, maybe her whole fucking house is covered in bubble wrap.

I feel Emily's hand squeezing my knee. It relaxes me immediately.

Well, at least she's going to be there so it isn't going to be a total bore. She slides her hand up but I catch it before it reaches anywhere dangerous. I try to stifle a laugh (really, you'd think Emily would have a little more control) as I bring that hand of hers up to my lips and kiss it soothingly, sort of telling her that we could save this for later.

When we get there, we'll find a way to pass the time.

* * *

For a lonely and loaded woman, you'd expect a cold, nearly empty house. That isn't exactly the case for Panda's aunt. Aunt Elizabeth's house is chock full of stuff. Fucking full, I tell you. Like, really, mum would freak if she finds out how consumerist this woman is. Really fucking amazing.

And even more of a surprise is that it's automatically charming for me here. Cosy. It's animated and so full of stories I want to hear. Defaced English notes that were framed are hanging on the walls of her foyer. Then there's the combined effect of the smell of pastries fresh out of the oven and Billie Holiday floating in the air. It's too fucking easy to feel at home. I can't believe it and I know I'm going too far by saying it... but this house, it's... seductive.

* * *

I'm in an alcove, browsing through Aunt Elizabeth's books on Hunting when Emily says, "There you are!" She grabs my hand excitedly, leading me into a white oak panelled parlour and stops the both of us in front of a bizarre collection of _chainsaws. _

Yes, you heard that right the first time. Chainsaws.

Chainsaws of every model and colour and homicidal potential.

Emily whistles. "Would you get a load of this..."

My eyebrows shoot way, way up while I take in the whole scene.

The first thing that comes out of my mouth: Fuh-_king _hell.

"It's a chainsaw collection," she states, "a _very comprehensive_ chainsaw collection."

"That lady is pure mental."

Emily leans in, slowly reaching out to touch the nearest and nastiest-looking one. "I hear she makes excellent scones though."

Yeah, so like Emily to see the good in everyone.

"But..." I trail off, watching her as the tips of her fingers skim its teeth gingerly. I worry that she'll accidentally cut herself. "Still," I say firmly, so that her hand jerks back to where it's supposed to be (not anywhere near those fucking things). "You can't deny this is crazy shit, Ems."

She giggles, nods her head in agreement. "Right, totally even more bonkers than your collection of Barack Obama action figures," Emily says mockingly, clever enough to slide her hand into mine.

Emily twines our fingers together and I don't even bother to be offended.

No. Not when Emily has really, _really_ soft hands.

* * *

We're all outside, taking the obligatory stroll around Aunt Elizabeth's immense grounds, when Panda tells us the most interesting story.

"Back then, there used to be another person living here. The groundkeeper, I forgot his name..."

"Mercutio," supplies Auntie Elizabeth.

"Right, Mercutio! Old man Cooshie." Then Panda closes her eyes, like she's willing that his name shall never be forgotten from her memory ever again.

"Well, Auntie Lizzie was giving me archery lessons one day. But she completely forgot that all-important fact of my being left-handed. So when I shot the goddamned thing the arrow went right through Mercutio's shoulder instead!"

Jesus, Panda. And she said _I'd_ make a good assassin. Boy, was she wrong.

"He was quite a distance away, really. Fooling with the Begonias. Somehow I still managed to pop one well into his shoulder. Total accident. He's gone now."

"He dead?" Katie asks in her usual way. You know, tactlessly.

"No!" Panda says, panic-stricken like Katie killed the guy in theory. "He's just gone. Back to his home country of Latvia, enjoying his retirement."

"So, how is he?" Katie follows up.

"Oh, he's like... super! His only complaint is that his shoulder hurts like a _kuce—-_that means 'bitch' in Latvian by the way—-and because of that, he finds it incredibly difficult to wank off."

As I'm trying to put a stop to my laughter (because Panda is clearly not appreciating the way we all found this hilarious), I spot something unusual. Right across from me I see Effy lean into to Katie to whisper something in her ear. Well, whatever thing Effy said makes Katie's eyes light up like a cat. Then Katie turns to Effy and they share this knowing look and in an instant, they're both doubled up in sniggers.

Hmmm. Those two...

There's something about them that's promising. It makes me believe that they're finally trying to fix things.

Emily has seen it too because she has her eyes on them as well. She's pleased about this, that much I can say. If you watch very carefully you'd notice the faintest of smiles on her lips. I guess she's glad Katie's letting Effy in.

It's a bit silly, you know, how I'm happy when she's happy. And I shouldn't be complaining. We share our happiness and it sounds really gay (no pun intended) and everything but that's a good sign, right?

See, I honestly believe that Emily and I are a done deal. All I have to do is keep us close.

So I throw an arm around her.

Just because I can.

* * *

Emily and I have separated from the others on account of Panda suddenly wanting to retake those archery lessons from Aunt Elizabeth and Thomas, Katie and Effy wanting to try their hand on it as well.

Aunt Elizabeth mentioned she had a 'glorious garden' and to that, Emily could only respond with so much glee, ignoring my suggestions to stick around for the archery so that she could sneak us off to see said nth wonder of the world before the others did.

So the archery lessons would have to wait I tell myself. There's nothing more I can do about it. I mean, what would you do if your girlfriend's got you completely, utterly whipped?

* * *

The gardens on the other side of Auntie Elizabeth's estate are 'sheer beauty' (they're so beautiful I absolutely loathe the way I can't make it any less sparkly-sounding). Very much like those grand landscapes the French and the Italians seemed to be so keen at. Her gardens spread about an entire acre having at least thirty types of flowers in full bloom. Few of which I can recognize, much less name.

They're arranged in such a pretty, symmetrical way. In increasing, co-centric circles with every circle containing flowers of a particular colour. And each round is separated from the other by a little strip of pavement for people to walk on which is cool because you can see them all up close if you wanted to.

I bet it's even more beautiful if you ever get an aerial view of it. It'd be like a large-scale colour gradient. Reds on the outside to the purples at the core. Roses to violets. A floral rainbow.

Add my girlfriend to the picture and it's finally a dream sequence. Emily fascinated by a field of flowers. The light's different and everything's softer, more surreal. And I think my feelings for her are interfering with my 20-20 vision because it's all starting to look like a ridiculously retouched wedding photo.

Maybe that's why Emily's so in love with this place.

A breeze sweeps by and the fragrance it carries is heavenly. Emily's hair sways with it, dances to its lead. And I can't possibly tell you how alive I feel at this exact moment.

She smiles her big and wide smile. The smile that just crowns Emily the Queen of the Universe. The smile that makes my heart believe that it belongs in the sky.

I go to where she is, near a dwarf variety of sunflowers. I notice the butterflies darting in, out and around, just as in love with her as I am. And I pity them. These poor little sods don't get to kiss her.

"It's all so unbearably beautiful."

Emily means the gardens.

My gaze sweeps all over her loveliness. Over her petite, Fitch-fit body. Over the red waterfall of hair. Over all the features that I have come to memorise: her button-nose, her perfect lips, her honey-freckled eyes that see into me too, too well. The sight of Emily in her entirety makes me _ache_ with an unsettling desire.

"Yeah, unbearably beautiful."

I mean the garden... and something—-_someone else _entirely.

* * *

The white ones are the innermost flowers, circling the centrepiece of the entire garden, a grand fountain with a fat, golden Buddha monument that looks hilariously out of place.

_It's like Fat Buddha__'s floating on a big, cottony cloud_ I think to myself.

"Can I take you somewhere?" Emily asks, gently picking out a Madonna lily, then twirling it between her fingers. She takes a quick sniff of it (with her eyes fluttering shut) before she hands it over to me.

Emily Fitch still makes me blush. Fucking charmer, she is.

I grin at her because, really, the silly girl still _asks_.

"You can take me anywhere."

* * *

Thomas, observant fellow he is, told us about this room's busted deadbolt. Now, under his oh-so-divine instruction, all Emily has to do is lift the doorknob and turn it. Kind of like those childproof medicine bottle caps that you had to press down on until you could open them.

The door swings open accordingly and Emily, done with the Smooth Criminal business turns to me with a cheeky little smirk and suddenly she's a different kind of smooth.

She's got both my hands in hers and she's pulling me in slowly. Once our hips meet she slips her arms through mine and I can feel her grabbing, cupping my arse, pushing me against her. The rational parts of my brain slow down. Decent thoughts are gone now. They're now overtaken by this extreme ache to crush myself into her, make our bodies impossibly pressed against one another.

Craving. Erasing the concept of spaces and in-betweens.

"So this is where Thomas got his weed?"

Tearing my eyes away from her too-pretty face, I look around. Weed everywhere. Covering the custard-coloured walls, clipping onto a clothesline hung inside the room, scattering atop the counter like nobody's business.

Just... _everywhere. _Like this place was intended to be a fucking skunk factory in the first place. "I suppose," I answer, shifting my attention back to her.

She has my skirt bunched up from behind and her light touches alone seem to scorch the back of my thighs. Her voice is rough and raw. "Remember dealing it?"

"Yeah," I breathe out, doing my absolute best to speak in complete sentences. "You wanted to kiss me then."

Emily bites her lip and behind those gorgeous, long lashes of hers are her hooded, hazy eyes... They're fixed on my mouth in a way that I can't ever go without anymore. I'm holding my breath when she says, the same way she did in that cave,

"I want to kiss you now."

She attacks my lips, and oh, how I _can't_ get enough of this. I ease backwards, receiving her advances. Just let her wave of kisses crash and crash on my shore. On my mouth, my jaw, my neck. Red hair flooding my vision, prompting a temperature rise, getting me sweating in seconds. And in record time, the small of my back's already digging into a counter.

She slows down. And I gain back enough sense to realise it's my turn to take. My hands move blindly over her hips, over her arse. Down to the back of her thighs and then up to her bum again. I give a greedy squeeze and to that she sends a moan passing through my lips. The sound, the rumble that tells me I'm making her feel so fucking good, it just leaves the best taste in my mouth. I swallow her audio and it drops down my throat, down into my stomach, goes all the way, straight to that place between my legs.

I pick her up and she hooks her arms around my neck. I turn us around until I've placed her safely onto the counter. She takes her shirt off hastily before working on my own. We kiss feverishly in a simulated panic, like the world was ending right around us. And it gets pretty hot, pretty fast as she moves closer, wrapping her legs around my waist before pushing herself completely off the counter and in a flash I'm one Emily Fitch heavier.

And I wasn't exactly used to this. To us getting acrobatic and romantic. As if this was _Dirty Dancing_ or some physically demanding movie that needed stunt doubles.

So yeah, this is totally new to me and I'm wobbling about, trying to keep the both of us balanced. Because sometimes Emily gets really into it and she's totally clueless about the danger she puts me in. And thank God I fell backwards into a row of packaged soil because if I didn't, my spine would've snapped right in two.

She lets out a surprised squeak as she topples over me. "Fuck, sorry," she says, a bit dazed before getting herself off my torso.

I reach out to tip her chin down so that Emily's worried eyes look into mine. I'm smiling my stupid grin again (the one that Emily summons or dismisses at will), I just know it. So I lift my head up and meet her with a reassuring kiss. "It's fine, babe," I say when our lips part for a second. Then I kiss her again. "No harm done."

That was a complete lie.

Because seriously, this just might be the most life-compromising sex I've ever had.

In no way though, is that fact stopping me from sliding a hand into her knickers to grip at a delightfully round cheek. She hums her approval so I take it a step further and push her down on to my waiting thigh so that it hits strategically between her legs.

I want so fucking bad to know how wet she is for me that my hands just move of their own accord, until they're holding her hips. Then I start to rock her up and down, setting her in motion against my thigh.

It's kind of weird but I tell myself this is the adrenaline kicking in and it's all to blame for my being extra kinky. Or maybe it's the mere presence of all this weed. I don't really know. Whatever it is, it spells great, awesome sex.

I let go of her once I notice she's already doing it on her own, grinding herself into me slowly. I hold her by the neck, thumbs caressing the line of her jaw encouragingly.

And it's so _satisfying_ because Emily's knickers are fucking _damp_ and I'm fucking throbbing helplessly now because watching, _feeling_ her do this is just too fucking hot.

My hand trails down, I palm her tit, squeezing and massaging in tune with her breathing which is picking up in intensity. She tells me then, like she's in pain, that she wants me to "Fuck's sake, take them off!" So I comply and hook my thumbs below the garter of her knickers and pull them down as far as they can go.

Then there's this awkward, and _really_ unwanted pause as she rolls over to my side to kick them off. Her knickers fly off to fuck knows where and we lie there for a while in collective concern, wondering how in the world we're going to find them later. It's quiet and still for a moment, just heavy breathing in the background.

"I love you," I blurt out. Because fucking hell, I really do.

She turns to her side, looks at me with bright eyes, and all that's left for her to do now is come back with a force. Soon enough, she's on me again, kissing me like she's making up for all that lost time.

And Jesus. I can't even begin to tell you how amazing it feels when her bare cunt, slick as ever, finds my thigh again.

This time, it's pure contact. Nothing in the way of me and her. There's nothing holding her back and now Emily's bucking herself against me relentlessly that it's almost too fucking much for me to handle.

We're frantically trying to keep our lips glued. I mean, Jesus Christ, as long as they're fucking _touching something_!

Pretty soon though, those kisses turn open-mouthed because her breathing goes short and she's so, so flushed and I just know that she's so, so close to coming.

Emily cries out before her back arches and her body stiffens. She stays like that for a second and then I'm holding her by the hips again, helping her riding it out. Emily relaxes then.

She's completely spent when she collapses on top of me. Wet-red hair covering pleasure-shut eyes. And it just hurts because I can get her like this. I can make her lose it. I can make her feel so much.

It's like that for a while. Just her, panting heavily onto my neck. Just me, achingly aware of her hot breath on my skin. Just us and the synchronicity of our inhales and exhales.

Emily, thinking her breathing is regular enough for her to say something, starts with, "That was..."

I cut her off, Kiss her deeply, pouring my entire being into the movements of my lips, letting her know exactly how much I'd walk through hell and back for her.

"Fucking _fuck_," she says, like she's saying it with her last, dying breath.

"I know right?" I reply, taking it as some form of "Well, congratulations! That was one fantastic fuck you just gave me."

I push her fringe to the side with careful fingers. They skim across her brow, gathering just enough sweat and warmth. "Thought we'd try something new," I say, my voice cracking, failing miserably at keeping suave.

Because Emily's all about experiences. And, well, she'll have to add 'Getting giddy on girlfriend's thigh' to that growing list now.

She's quick to recover because she's already up and pinning my hands by my sides. "Your turn" she announces. "I'm so gonna fucking 'try something new' on you too," Emily growls in like possibly the sexiest voice _ever_.

* * *

Winning over the bust sculptures of various unknown great men and women of history and the fishing gear, the second weirdest thing inside the parlour (if you're not a complete dunce, you'd know that the weirdest thing in here are the fucking chainsaws) is the couch.

So, I was thinking. If Katie donated half of her wardrobe to Oxfam and they'd made furniture out of it, well, it'd kind of look like this couch all three of us are occupying.

The het couple are God knows where. Effy's upstairs, sleeping on account of not being able to last night because of reasons I have yet to discover.

Aunt Elizabeth is gracefully bent over the tea table pouring everyone a cup of tea when Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" starts playing from what I'm very sure is Katie's phone.

She whips the phone out of her purse, checks who the caller is and she turns to Aunt Elizabeth. "Excuse me, I need to take this."

Aunt Elizabeth stops blowing over her cup of tea to give Katie her consent. "Please, go ahead."

"Thank you," Katie tells her while getting up. She's already answered her phone when she steps into the foyer, hoping to get more privacy. A moment later though, she pops back into the parlour, tells us dejectedly, "Got cut off. No signal."

"Who was it?" Emily asks, scooting closer to me so that Katie could reclaim her seat on the couch she obviously had an affinity with.

"Cousin Daphne. Remember? Big Scottish wedding?"

"Such a pity. I should've suggested you try outside. Signal's better there," Aunt Elizabeth says concernedly to a clearly upset Katie.

"It's fine, Auntie Elizabeth," Katie says with a small smile. "I'm sure she'll call again."

It's like Cousin Daphne heard that cue all the way from Scotland because it's not long before we're all listening to Katie's ringtone again.

"Ems, let's go," Katies says and she starts tugging on Emily's shirt impatiently.

This sudden involvement surprises Emily and she brushes Katie off. "She only wants to talk to you," Emily insists, avoiding Katie's gaze at all costs.

"Nonsense. She needs you to help with her vows, Ems. You know you're really good with the romantic speech thing."

"Amen," I say.

Emily and Aunt Elizabeth turn to me with matching expressions of surprise. Katie looks like she'd flip me off if she could but thank God Aunt Elizabeth is here. Her presence must compel Katie to keep things PG-rated.

Emily finally gives my knee a quick squeeze and I nod my permission. When I turn back to Aunt Elizabeth, she's staring at the place where Emily touched me. She catches herself and directs her gaze back to me. But it doesn't make me feel any better because she's staring at me thoughtfully, as though she's trying to figure me out.

Just like some other Elizabeth I know.

She clears her throat, getting all fidgety, making up for the silence and the stillness that occurred just then. "Would you like cup of tea?" she asks me, with a warm smile.

It's such a lovely smile that I return it. "Yes please."

"Here, let me pour you a new cup," she says, both hands on the teapot. And I can tell that she's more focussed on the tea-pouring at the moment than on the chin-wagging. Then she motions at the other cups that she's prepared previously. "These were getting cold. See, this tea is at its most excellent when hot." She picks up the teacup carefully and says, "I didn't want to rob you of an experience," then brings it over to my outstretched arms and accepting hands.

I look down at my teacup. Again, can I emphasise that everything here is fucking green? Like, I wouldn't be surprised if I went outside and the sky turned some nasty sodding shade of it. No, not at all.

"Why, thank you," I tell Aunt Elizabeth anyway. Then I raise the teacup so that it's close enough to smell. I sniff at it and my suspicions are confirmed. This tea is made out of weed.

Oh joy.

"Now, the key to tasting, dear, is that you have to slurp. Like so..." She demonstrates, slurping loudly. Not your standard tea party, but yeah, it _is _still sort of cool.

"Excellent! Excellent tea," she announces, smacking her lips together. She waves me on, "Go on, try it. It's marvelously tasty."

I copy her actions earlier, making sure to be extra loud, feeling the tea making little bubbles from the all the suction I must be creating. Aunt Elizabeth is right. This stuff _is _tasty.

I set my teacup back down on its saucer. I'm smacking my lips together as well, enjoying the cool aftertaste, when Aunt Elizabeth mentions,

"They're lovely. The both of them."

The words almost don't register. But I'm sure I heard the words 'lovely' and 'both' so that wasn't hard to piece out because who else would fit that description but the twins? And yes, I reluctantly admit that includes Katie.

I follow Aunt Elizabeth's line of sight, through the window, outside where the twins are discussing wedding plans. Katie is covering her mobile's mouthpiece while she's saying something to Emily. Then Emily shakes her head and refuses that 'something' Katie just said. Katie's eyes narrow and her hand's on Emily's ear in an instant. She gives it a good twist, making Emily's eyes widen in pain, and also making Emily's hands open in submission which now makes it possible for Katie to shove her mobile into Em's unwilling hold.

I would've butt in. But if there's one unspoken rule I'd never break again, it'd be this:

Twins. They're supposed to settle their shit on their own.

I turn back to Aunt Elizabeth with a fond smile on my face and I know that it's going to give me away. "Yeah. They really are," I agree effortlessly.

Aunt Elizabeth, with her brown cardigan and her dangling earrings, says to me, quite ominously, "But you prefer that Emily one over the other, right?"

"What makes you say that?" I mumble over my cup of tea before I tip the green liquid against my lips again. The tea's making them tingle. Now this is some magical shit I've got here.

"Security cameras, dear. I'm sorry, but they exist in this century..."

She says that while I'm in mid-sip. So naturally, after finding _that _out, I snort into my tea, gracelessly spilling it all over my lap.

Holy shitting sunshine! It's fucking hot!

"...have them rigged everywhere. That drying room alone has four. See, I like taking extra care of those tea plants. Precautionary measures, you know. Some twats have tried breaking in before. Good thing I've got Boom-Boom."

Oh God. My stomach drops. This woman just saw me and Emily fuck like never before. And she caught it on tape, from _four fucking angles_.

**FUCK**.

"Boom-Boom!" she calls and within seconds an English bulldog comes hobbling in, his saliva trailing after him. He barks twice, cueing Aunt Elizabeth to set her tea-cup down excitedly. "Boom-Boom! There you are!" she exclaims, patting the space on the couch beside her.

Despite being a heavy-set dog, Boom-Boom easily jumps onto the seat next to Aunt Elizabeth.

"Isn't he a chubby bubby angel? Just look at him!"

I do. I see his droopy features and his sourpuss expression. I see that it probably mirrors mine on account of me having spilt hot liquid weed all over myself, thank you very much.

Fucking hell, I don't give a fuck if he's a chubby bubby shitting angel. My crotch is on fucking fire! And it _isn't_ because of sexual stimulation!

I notice Boom-Boom staring at me. His wide-set eyes seem to look like they're full of concern.

Wait. On second thought, he _is _kind of cute.

"You all right, love? You seem to be a little out of it?"

I snap out of my _Boom-Boom _trance and get to my feet immediately.

"Oh, dear me. You're wet," she points out simply, finally noticing my life was in danger just now.

I couldn't contain my discomfort any longer. "May I use the loo?"

"Oh, please do. It's just outside the parlour, the second door on the left. The bright yellow one."

I hurry off, following her instructions. And there it is, just outside the parlour, second door on the left. (The bright yellow one.) I reach out for the knob, and when I turn it, it doesn't budge. I try again. Nothing happens, I just have a stupid yellow door to look at.

For a second, I had the urge to bang the door to get whoever the fuck's in there to come out.

"Occupado!" Panda yells irritatedly from the other side and _of course_ it's heard over the door because it's Panda. And in case you didn't know already, Panda is a walking megaphone.

I press my ear against the door, fucking curious as to what's taking her so fucking long and by the sounds of it, she's not going to be coming out any time soon.

Well, she could be _coming_ any time soon. Just not coming _out _any time soon_. _

Because when I mean sounds, I mean _Ohhh _and _Oh, oh, oh _and _Flippin' heck, pullin' at my neck_ and _Jesus, Thomas, John, Joseph, Mary_ and grunts and moans and things slapping against another.

Despite the fact that I'm so fucking annoyed that they denied the rest of us access to the loo just because they wanted to make the fucking monkey I still wanted to warn them, you know, that there might be some hidden cameras in there. In case somebody wanted to nick the basket of plastic fruit in there or something. But I don't really go there so I just I give the door one, last, angry bang before retreating back into the parlour.

When I get back, I find Aunt Elizabeth holding a fat roll of kitchen paper.

"Pandora will be out soon, I'm sure of it. And from what I've seen… Well, you've already been hot and wet in the drying room. I s'pose you could stand being hot and wet a little while longer." she says airily, tossing the kitchen roll at me.

Now I know where Panda gets her pseudo-filthy from. Her Auntie Elizabeth is a walking smut-operator.

I take the kitchen roll and tear some off to start cleaning myself with. "What _did_ you see exactly?" I ask, trying to keep the terror out of my voice.

"Nothing more than what was necessary. I didn't need to see any more exposed skin to figure out where that was going. I respect your privacy so I shut them off."

"Oh. That's a... relief—-I mean... thanks—-I mean... we're sorry!"

Shit. Now I know how JJ feels. No, really. I should stop being so hard on him. Apparently, I have the makings of being a stammering, blabbering twat as well.

She sets her teacup down and it's empty. She opens her mouth with a purpose.

"Naomi, dear. Panda doesn't bring that many friends round, yeah? So I'm not accustomed to visitors belonging to your age groups. I'm not really aware of what you kids are capable of but I was expecting everyone to be tame, at the least. Sure, at times I catch people picking their noses or stealing the tiniest Matryoshka dolls from my collections because they think I wouldn't notice. But nothing of _that_ magnitude, you know. Especially from two young women. So you can say that I was a bit... _shocked _when I saw... what I saw."

My eyes are fixed on her empty teacup. I'm having delusional ideas that involve filling it with tea so that she'd be obliged to stop speaking and start sipping her fucking liquid weed.

"I don't know how to tell you this... and I terribly hate to be a party pooper. But I wouldn't like for you to think I was invading your privacy or anything. So, the next time you come lovely ladies come round, please, refrain. That clear, love?"

I gulp and blink back my surprise. I clear my throat but my positive response comes out as a croak. "Yeah, absolutely clear. Crystal clear."

So I'm there, patting myself dry on the outside, dying in a hole of embarrassment on the inside. Aunt Elizabeth is sat across me, looking thoughtful with her hands all folded nicely on her lap. Suddenly, her face lights up as if she's just remembered something. "Wait here, I think I have just the thing to get you all tidied up."

Aunt Elizabeth gets up and buzzes out. Emily comes back in not long after and I wonder if I should tell her about those security cameras or not but as Emily's drawing nearer I see that she's not exactly in the best mood so I decide against it.

Instead, I ask, "Where's Katie?"

"Upstairs," she breathes out, plopping beside me on the Cheetah-skin couch. "With Effy."

I pause to marvel at how chummy those two are being. Wasn't it just last night that they were at each other's throats? For all I know they could be up there getting a tan on the fucking roof so that they're all nice and golden when they sell their Girl Scout Cookies tomorrow.

"Where's Aunt Lizzie?" Emily asks and I force myself to stop with the Katie-Effy-best-mates fantasy.

"Oh, she's off getting the solution to my problem," I tell Emily.

"Your problem being...?"

I glance down at my skirt to show her exactly what my problem is.

Emily snickers. "Whoa, babes. You're wet. _Again_."

At that, I shoot her a cross look. You'd think she'd be a little more considerate about this whole ordeal. Then what she says next throws me off completely. It's something that would've made me spill tea all over myself again.

"Shame I can't clean you up this time around. I would've made well use of my tongue, if you know what I mean."

Her lips are tickling my ear in a way that never fails to turn me on and Christ's sake, how can I not turn beet-red? Don't get me wrong. I love it when she talks filth and all. But not here, where there could be hidden sound recorders lining the walls, just waiting to shoot something porn-worthy. I promised Aunt Elizabeth that the indecency would stop.

Speaking of Aunt Elizabeth...

We hear her returning and I'm pulling away from Emily like she's a plague and I know she's going to punish me for that later but Aunt Elizabeth's coming and I don't want her to think Emily and I just had a quickie while she was away.

But wow... I've gotta say Aunt Elizabeth is freaking me the fuck out of my mind with what she thinks is a 'proper solution'.

And you'd think she'd come back in the parlour, carrying a blowdryer or a fan or something... but no, she comes back in carrying a fucking leaf blower.

This woman and her power tools. A model for feminists everywhere.

And it's inevitable, I'm prompted. An iconic scene immediately comes to mind. Of a blonde woman keeping her skirt down.

I gulp down loudly, instinctively grabbing Emily's hand. "Don't you have something a little less... hardcore?"

"Don't be silly. This way you'll be sorted in a second. So what do you say? Fancy doing a Marilyn Monroe?

* * *

= = = ** **EFFY** ** = = =

Katie's flicked the television on so I wake up listening to Taylor Swift.

Just. Fucking. Wonderful.

"Would you get a fucking load of this?" Katie says, waking me up on purpose.

I pull myself out of Aunt Elizabeth's sea of fluffy pillows so that I could sit up and read the little header on the top-left part of the screen so I'd know what Katie's talking about.

MTV's _Ten Best Videos of 2009_.

I don't watch MTV anymore. I don't even watch _TV_ anymore.

I don't give a fuck, really.

"Taylor Swift is on it three times! Totally jokes, you know. My tits have more talent than she does, Christ's sake. I mean, how the fuck does shit like this happen? See this? It proves that everyone at MTV is a tasteless tosser."

"That what you think? Because I think it ain't half bad," I lie intentionally, wanting to get a rise out of her.

"It's like she took ten tiny shits in my brain. How the fuck can you think this 'ain't half bad'? Look at her. Even Naomi dances better than her!"

"You're just saying that because Campbell has grown on you."

While Katie's busy ranting about life in general I'm able to wiggle the remote out of her lax hold. I channel-surf until I land on a documentary about global warming on National Geographic.

"This is boring."

"This isn't Taylor Swift."

"True."

"Katie?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Why'd you kiss me?"

"Why'd you hit me in the head with a fucking rock?" she snaps back, annoyed.

It comes to that point where I uncharacteristically can't say a thing anymore. Katie seems to get me to do that all the time.

She purses her lips, frowns at me. "I thought we dropped this already?"

"I haven't slept all night. It'd be peachy fucking nice to hear an explanation," I say, my voice rising (just a little).

"Lalalala. Not listening."

"Katie."

"LALALA!"

I roll my eyes. "Have it your way then," I say indifferently, rolling my eyes before shutting them because if she isn't giving any answers I'm clearly supposed to just ignore her right about now.

It's not long though, before she's playing along and pretend-waking me up from my pretend-slumber. "Effy? Eff? You awake?"

"No," I answer flatly and through my squint eyes I see her eyes widen in disbelief, then aggravation.

"Shit, Eff, I'm trying to tell you something," Katie whines over me. "So cut being a tit, yeah?"

I breathe out a sigh to hide my satisfaction. "Okay, I'm listening."

In fact, I'm always listening. It's not like you could shut your ears like you could your eyes. _Always_ listening. That's how I know too much.

Katie's shuffling beside me on the bed. She fancies lying down as well. Couldn't blame her, really. Aunt Elizabeth's king size is just the most inviting thing in the world.

So here we are, Katie and I lying next to each other, about to talk of things that may or may not matter in the end.

"I..." she begins, like telling me this hurts her.

She's stuck. So I wait patiently, gently grazing her arm with a pinkie. It helps and it gets her talking.

"I've been asking a ton of questions lately and I just wanted to know what it's like. Hitting two birds with one stone. You know. I wanted to know why. Why Freddie loves you more. Why Emily likes kissing girls. And I dunno... I figured if I kissed you, I'd know what it's like. Then I'd know why Freddie and Emily love what they love."

Katie's voice goes small again. It makes it easy to believe that these issues with Emily and Naomi and Freddie and me were actually tearing Katie apart in some way. Because if you look at things from the surface, you'd think Katie didn't care. Truth is, she does care. In fact, she cares too much.

Here she is, sounding sad. A kind of sad Katie Fitch should never be allowed to be.

So I ask her, "Hey, Katie. You're done kissing me and everything... Can you say you know what it's like now?"

It makes Katie laugh quietly. Not as hearty as I would've wanted for her but she's cheered up nonetheless. "Yeah, you did Emily and Freds justice, Eff. Don't worry, I'm going to stop thinking that they have shitty taste now."

The remote's in her hand again. Means I have to endure listening to some mainstream shit for the next ten minutes.

"Katie?"

"Mmmm?"

"This morning. When you said that I loved Freddie more..."

Katie has enough foresight to lower the volume. You couldn't hear anything over the steady bass line. "Oh, Effy, sweetie," she says, turning to me, "If we let that little stint go on for longer we all know where that'd head, yeah? You'll use me like you used Cook."

Well, I can't say she's right about that. I can't say she's completely wrong, either.

"You're like. Really magnetic, Eff. Everyone loves you. But then you hit me over in the head with a rock..."

I can't look at her every time she mentions it. Christ, if I could do anything over again...

"...and I didn't love you that much anymore," she deadpans.

A second later she's laughing to herself and... Fucking hell, was that supposed to be funny? Because I've completely missed the humour in that one.

"And I tried really hard, Eff. I built this fucking wall that made sure we'd never have to cross paths like... ever. Y'know?"

The TV's still on. I'm watching the people on screen. Their mouths are moving but no sound's coming out. I wish I could do the same with Katie. Just watch her talk, not listen to what she actually had to say.

Because the things she's telling me... they hurt.

They hurt like _fuck_.

But no, I have to man up and take this in. I asked for answers, I'm getting answers. Straight from the source. I can't chicken out now.

"Tried really fucking hard to hate you, to keep you away. I let my guard down for one night and you manage to win me over."

_I won her over._

And there it is. There's my reason to smile.

And I don't know what it is about the moment but my mouth's opening and I want to give Katie a piece of myself too.

"Remember Tony?"

"Who forgets super fit brothers?" Katie says, jokingly.

"Well, I picked up so much from him. That smooth bastard taught me everything I know."

"He _was_ quite the legend," Katie starts but then stops herself because from the sound of it, she was about to go on a full-fledged, Tony-induced gushing session.

I think of my brother. Loveliness and cleverness aside, he used to be such a massive arse.

"He used to hurt a lot of people. Found out he didn't like it. So he sorted it out with everyone. He sorted it out with himself. He changed."

And I leave out the part where he got run over by a bus. Because that kind of shit isn't exactly bedtime story material.

It was getting roadkilled for Tony. It was hitting Katie with a rock for me. Someone had to almost die for the lesson to sink in. For the both of us to stop fucking with the people we care about.

And I should've fucking known better, you know?

"Sometimes I think I was born backwards... You know, come out my mum the wrong way. I hear words go past me backwards. The people I should love, I hate, and the people I hate..."

Katie holds my hand when the words stop coming out. She understands my sudden silence.

* * *

Evening has fallen slowly, in a way that makes you surprised that you don't see the sun when you look out the window anymore. Nobody has come in and mentioned anything about going home.

It's nighttime and the roads can be pretty shit when you can't see the potholes. That, plus the fact that I'm dead tired makes the idea of driving everyone home tonight laughable.

Good luck breaking the news to everyone, Stonem.

But then Panda comes barging into the bedroom, lights turning on in her wake and it seems that going home _tonight _was never in her plans. Aunt Elizabeth comes trailing in after her, carrying her tray of magnificent scones. Then there's Thomas, looking a bit nervous, perhaps because of the glaring fact that he's the only male in this estrogen-charged, super-hardcore pyjama party.

Emily comes in (with Naomi, of course) and she immediately makes a beeline for Katie who's currently fussing over the various beauty products on Aunt Elizabeth's vanity. Emily mentions something about there being a blowdryer here after all which Naomi can only respond to by turning a funny shade of red.

Then Panda's there, grabbing at the twins, pulling at them until they are all here with me on the bed.

"Hey, Eff," Naomi says with her trademark wink. She gets in after Emily and I can't stop myself from thinking them the cutest thing ever.

Aunt Elizabeth hands Panda a DVD and now she's shouting excitedly, like this is the most important thing in the universe. Then again, lots of stuff is the most important thing in the universe for Panda...

"Chick Flick! Sorry, Tommo! We're doing _Breakfast at Tiffany's_!"

"Pop it in the box, Panda Poo," Aunt Elizabeth says while getting into bed herself. Her king-sized is massive enough to fit all of us in so there's still plenty of room left even as she squeezes in between the twins with her delicious-looking tray of scones (isn't it obvious that I really want one?).

Panda gives her aunt a little salute. "Roger that, Lizzie Poo!" She hobbles off to load the disc in and after that, she says to Thomas, "Aunt Elizabeth has a rule. No boys on the bed. Sorry, Thomas. I can sit with you here, though" she says, letting go of his hands to motion around them. "That alright, Lizzie Poo?"

"Why, of course it is. You know where the extra pillows are, Panda. You can get some if you and Thomas want to be more comfortable."

Then she starts passing the tray around. "Why, you girls still haven't tried my scones. I implore you all to have a taste! They're certainly not going to eat themselves."

Panda's head juts out from where she and Thomas were sitting at the foot of the bed. "Leave some for us, okay?"

We all break into grins because Panda is being adorable again and after everyone has taken a piece she gets up to get the tray of scones from me then she's happily hopping off to Thomas again.

So as far as arrangements are concerned, I'm lying next to Katie and Emily and Naomi are on the other side of Aunt Elizabeth. Aunt Elizabeth, snug in her cocoon of Fitch twins, puts her arms around them.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a threesome with twins," she says, pulling them in closer.

Emily and Katie exchange identical looks of surprise-slash-horror because that was just _so wrong_ and Naomi seems to agree with me because I'm pretty sure that peculiar sound in the background is the sound of Naomi choking on her scone.

Hell, I'd be choking on my scone too if Aunt Elisabeth was looking at me while she was saying things like that. Because Aunt Elizabeth was, you know, looking at Naomi while she said that.

Poor Naomi.

"Oi!" Panda calls. "Can you guys pipe down? The movie's starting!" she shushes us intensely. To that, everyone stiffens and you can feel it in the air that everyone's making a conscious effort to shut up.

So, for now, I forget about the sexual suggestions, forget about Naomi choking, forget about how warm Katie is next to me... and I focus on the film.

I have to show Audrey Hepburn some respect.

* * *

**A/N:** After that epico-stupido stunt I pulled off by not updating in forever, I'd be lucky if I still get any reviews. I mean, thank you for still reading this fic despite its temporary state of abandonment. I just... can I hug you, loyal reader? BIG LOVE TO YOU! *HUGSIESFOREVERYONE!*

Also, if you wanna hear about this... I have to say it was kinda hard unleashing my inner perve. Oh well, hope you guys found that smut scene somewhat decent. XD And I wanna know what you guys think about this chapter... So fire away!

**NEXT:** Effy taking the gang to her magical WATER PARK! A place of endless fun and excitement! (No, really!) Have you been missing the boys? Great news! THE THREE MUSKETEERS ARE IN! (Yes, that includes JJ) So I'm keeping the seatbelt sign on because CHAPTER 9's going to be such a ride! Excited? You are? EXCELLENT! You'll be hearing from me soon! :)


	9. Chapter 9: The Boys Are Back In Town

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**: Okay, so let me get this off my tits (my chest) I'M SUCH A LIAR. I never update on time and I want to beat myself silly for it and I'm sorry! I was hospitalised over a month ago and I had to miss some school. In turn, I had to make up for a lot of coursework when I came back and I had to put this story on hold to pass the term. But now this chap's here so you guys don't have to worry anymore. Teehee!

I'm already thanking you in advance for all the time it's going to take to read. Hopefully, it's sticky enough to keep you glued, bbs ;)

**EXPECT:** The WATER PARK: At light and after dark. Hot fun in the sun and be a loon under the moon! Say hello to the other James! (And a taste of another brother you all miss.) TOWELS! Towels? Yeah, towels. Deal with it. And then... More boys! Boys! BOYS! Testosterone is COOKing up trouble. The gang sharing the secrets and the sweetness. The sorrows and scores. It's almost coming to an end, kids, but wait 'til you witness this twist!

**WARNING:** The LONGEST CHAPTER YET! A MANDEH-JUST-HAD-A-GROWTH-SPURT-SIZED CHAP! Can you handle the heat? I'm serious, it's pretty facking long (15,000 WORDS!). You could do with some snacks and a personal masseuse accompanying you on your read. Just, be ready for pee breaks and stuff. ENJOY! ;)

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* * *

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**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
__****  
by interpol..ice**

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Chapter 9: The Boys Are Back In Town

* * *

= = = ** **NAOMI** ** = = =

A week after our visit to Aunt Elizabeth's, Effy gets this outlandish idea of taking all us girls to the water park just out of town. It was a tough week at college with the teachers (Keiran included, apparently, 'you are fucking my mum' isn't a reason for me to be exempted from any of it) giving us coursework and modules that I swear could last you a fucking lifetime.

We're all freaking out at this point. Final exams are looming right round the corner and everyone's busy fucking off in hopes of getting decent grades, trading in booze for books. In other words, believe it or not, me and my gang of merry twats are busy _revising._

Last Tuesday, Freddie (who I think was on something at the time) accidentally rammed his skateboard into a row of parked bicycles (mine included) because he was too engrossed in the task of reading his flashcards. While Emily went off to check if Freddie was okay, I took it upon myself to gather in all his flash cards that fell on the pavement like life-sized confetti.

Picking them up, I took a look at the notes he made. Freddie listed some sample questions down on the front. Stuff we've gone through in Politics, I realised. But the interesting thing was that he had written lines of continuous "I love her's" on the margins and I wondered why I never went through that drawing-arrows-through-hearts-and-initials phase.

'Oh, Freddie,' I thought. 'That's really fucking gay.'

Freddie chipped my reflector, though. I still have to talk to him about that. I'm no handyman, so he's got to fix that for me later. Hell, you don't fuck my ride and expect to be let off that easy.

The day after, I spotted Cook in the library with JJ.

Talk about a sur-fucking-prise.

I was passing by the study area when I caught Cook's eye. Upon seeing me, he sat straighter, broke into a ridiculous grin, pointed at JJ with his thumb, mouthed a 'boring' and then proceeded to feign sleep all while JJ was busy babbling about Maths. JJ's pencil was making a trail of numbers and signs that I'm positive were giving Cook a total mindfuck.

And much to our chagrin, (because the rest of us, save for Effy, were taking Spanish) Pandora started using French 24/7. It was great with Thomas, who answered her back fluently in under a second every single time. But with us, who were like, French-incompetent, it was just fucking sad. The worst was when Panda, talking about God knows what, asked Katie what her opinion on the matter was.

Then Katie, sticking to the topic of 'God knows what' said:

"Excuse me, baboon. Please pass the blender, yeah?" (In really bad, mangled French that wasn't even really French)

Then Panda said:

"I said 'monkey', not 'baboon'. You weren't listening at all, silly." (In standard English)

I'd rather not tell you about what Katie did after the eye-rolling and the locker-slamming and the bad-ass-mother-fucker-strutting. Because other than that, nothing _that_ exciting that had to be censored happened on Thursday.

Just yesterday, we spotted Katie and Effy on the college green, both holding copies of _A Clockwork Orange_. Katie was discussing something heatedly (with an animated lisp that I could almost hear from where me and Emily were) and Effy looking on, nonplussed.

My friends and I are making an effort. Comes to show just how fucking important our future is to us. Oh, we all give a fuck. We all want to move under a new roof. We all want to get a decent job that pays the bills and keeps us from the title of 'useless bum'.

We're all so fucking pressured right now because this is obviously a big deal. Big in a way that aside from college or coursework, most of us didn't have the time of day to meet up and exchange the regular pleasantry.

And Effy, well, of course she would notice this rift in our little group's dynamic.

And you know her, when she thinks that it's time to kick back and chillax, it's time to kick back and chillax.

After all, Effy's right most of the time. Scratch that. _All _of the time.

Thus, this trip to the water park.

We all need the break. Fuck it.

* * *

I live closest. Precisely why Effy's picking me up first. Just me and her, silent and tightlipped on fags as she rides her station wagon up the street. We don't need to talk because Effy's like that. She gives you time to be with your own thoughts.

Either that or she's too busy lost in her own.

The windows are rolled down and Effy's generous with her cigarettes. The smoke and our hair, victims of the wind and I'm here just enjoying my precious time sitting at shotgun. Once we pick the twins up, Katie's going to claim her throne.

It's getting old. Being with the quiet of my own thoughts. Because if they're not about Emily, they eventually lead to her anyway and it's just so, so fucking silly that even my subconscious has no sense of control whatsoever when it comes to my girlfriend.

When Effy's phone, placed rather precariously on the dash, starts buzzing, it's as if Effy and I have rediscovered the very useful ability of speech.

"You going to read that?" I ask her.

"No, you are. We practise responsible driving where I come from," Effy says, dead serious.

On contrary, on the very first day of college, I heard the story of Effy's dad ramming their car into one of the bollards surrounding the college green. But of course, being a good mate, I'm sensitive enough to not mention this to her.

I get the hint and reach for her mobile, fiddling around with the keypad for a bit so it'd unlock and whoa... Is that Katie's name in Effy's inbox?

**:: Ur comng olrdy? Ds isnt wat we agreEd on lst nyt! I jst woke up! D: ::**

I read it aloud to Effy, unable to stop the urge to imitate Katie's voice while I'm at it. It surprises me that I make it through the whole message with a straight face. But it isn't long until the both of us are sniggering like proper twats.

"You didn't sound anything like her," Effy says to me, trying to keep the steering wheel steady.

"I know, I know! And thank God for that!"

Because it'd be impossible for anyone to ever take me seriously if I talked the way Katie Fitch did. The girl's fucking outrageous.

I have another go at it, saying, "Honey, you _know _that your closet and the laundry basket are two completely different things, right?"

And Effy and I... we just lose it. Just fucking mental right about now.

"Fucking stop," Effy says, struggling to get the words out in between sniggers. "If you keep on doing that I'm fucking blaming you if I run over a squirrel so you better fucking behave, Naomi."

"Alright. Alright. Behaved. Right," I promise.

Eventually catching my breath, I ask Effy, "You and Katie finally checked out that new club up north?"

"No," Effy says plainly. "Why?"

"Well, you and Katie and a Friday night... I mean, what else would you two be doing?"

Effy is hesitant, is probably wondering if she should enlighten me or not.

"Actually, we were at my house. Revising."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

Katie fucking Fitch and Effy fucking Stonem?

Okay. So they were together last night. Fucking. Oh shit, I mean, _revising_. Revising at the Stonem's. Right.

Why is that so hard to fathom?

Effy speaks up. "She wanted to brush up some things on History with Emily but your girlfriend said she was going to be studying 'Anatomy_'_ with you."

"We don't take Anatomy..." I start, but then Effy cuts in, bursting with a stream of indelicate questions that makes me think that Cook did something to her cerebral system.

"So how are Emsy's tits? Nice, supple, grope-able? And that arse? 'Cause Emily's got an unbelievable bottom, you know? How does it feel when you touch her there, you know, down under? Oh, fuck! She must taste really—"

"Effy!" I exclaim, jumping right out of my fucking seat.

"Fuck me if you two weren't giving each other an in-depth Anatomy lesson last night," she says knowingly.

Great! Just great. Fuck double entendre.

"Okay, okay," I admit guiltily. "We _were _studying Anatomy."

Effy's profile reveals the visible half of an annoyingly smug smile. "Thought so."

And I slide down my seat, feeling well ashamed, not knowing what to do with myself or Effy's mobile (which is still in my hand) anymore. I'm pretty sure I want to chuck something out the window, though.

But I decide against that too.

"Ummm, so, should I text her back?"

It takes Effy a while to answer. "No need to. She's up already. That's all we need to know. And we're running late," she says, honking impatiently at the 'historic vehicle'dragging on in front of us.

"We are?" I ask, a bit confused because in my understanding, we're twenty minutes early.

Then Effy shocks me by making a sharp turn into the car park of a 24/7 convenience store. She pulls into a free parking space and kills the engine.

There's the _crank_ of the hand brake as Effy wrenches it up and she turns to me with an impish grin.

"Yes, Naomi. We're late. It's a Saturday and the lines here can get pretty long."

* * *

We're out of the store, carrying deceptively heavy paper bags. We bought popcorn, chips, sweets, lollies, soda, beer, cigarettes... the works. And I don't know what came over me but I got a jar of jelly beans for Emily.

Effy thinks it's funny and 'too much'.

I think she can go shove it up her arse.

Back in the car, Effy turns the radio on. Little Richard's "Lucille" thunders out the speakers. It's loud and Effy keeps it that way. Like it's making up for all the noise Effy wasn't making in this world.

Amidst the energetic drum beat and the racy singing-slash-moaning, I couldn't help but notice something being a bit off. That's when I see that Effy's mobile lit up again. What I thought was a very out of tune saxophone is actually her ringing tone.

"Frogs?" I say, unable to hide my judgment.

"Yes, frogs. Don't judge."

Sorry, Eff. Already did.

The croaking goes on and on. Like I'm in a blues gig set in a tropical rainforest pond out there somewhere. Just _ribbit ribbit _and _Lucille! _taking turns offending my sense of hearing.

Yeah, I'm well annoyed all right. You can fucking bet on it.

"You gonna answer that?" I catch myself asking again. It all feels a little too déjà vu and I'm half expecting-half dreading to hear her answer the same words she said to me earlier.

Not one to disappoint, Effy does exactly that.

"No, you are," she says to me once more. She reaches for the volume knob on the dash and turns it counterclockwise and Little Richard fucks off to take a powder. This is Effy's silent but effective way of saying, "Look, I've made it quiet enough for you to answer the fucking mobile so answer it already."

Talking to Katie is the last thing I want to be doing right now, but it seems that Effy's playing this 'responsible driver' card down to a T. And since she's being extra careful with our safety and shit, I feel semi-obligated to comply. I answer it and take a deep breath.

Here goes nothing...

"Hello?"

"Naomi?"

"Emily?"

"Hey," she says brightly.

"Hey," I manage, like Emily left just enough air in me to say it back at her.

"Wait, this _is _Effy's number, right?"

"Yes, Ems. You didn't ring mine by accident again," I say teasingly.

I hear Emily laugh at the other end and I high five myself in my head because I can still get her to do that. "Well, fuck you for always being on my mind," she says, all cute and accusatory.

"Fuck you too, for always being on mine."

Yeah, _very _original, Campbell. Where's your dashing wit when you need it?

There's a silence at the other end and I'd like to believe that I made Emily a little lightheaded despite my lack of originality.

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure I rang Effy's number," she says eventually.

"You did, babe. And congrats on that and everything but Effy can't talk right now. She and her steering wheel are in a committed relationship."

"Oh, right... great. Well, could you please tell Effy that Katie says she's being a twat for not texting back? And Katie says she's taking the front seat."

"But _I'm_ sitting in front," I answer back, stupid-ridden.

Emily tut-tuts. "I guess I'll just have to sit next to Katie then, for the _entire_ ride."

"NO!"

"That bothers you, eh?"

"Yes."

"What's rule number two to being a couple again?"

"Thou shalt always be within the utmost proximity to extremely lovely girlfriend under any given circumstance," I recite obediently.

I can see her from where she is. She's in their room, sitting Indian style on her bed. She's just had a shower so her hair's still wet. I can see her. And I just know she's smiling as she says, "You always have the best made-up rules, babe."

"Who says I made them up? You should know these rules came from fucking Sinai. Moses almost shitted himself because he had to carry down another tablet. Those things weigh a fuckload."

Emily is laughing her head off by this point. "Awww, Naoms, babe, stop being so fuckable."

SCORE! And Campbell is back in the zone!

"Fine, fine. I'll cease the awesome. Wouldn't want Katie to cut you for fucking up her phone bill. So... recap: Effy's a twat? Katie gets front seat?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Wait, I forgot something!" I add in a hurry.

"What?"

"And you love me so, so much, yeah?"

She pauses, and then...

"Yeah," she says, laughing softly. "But you love me more. See you, twat."

Emily hangs up and I feel strangely content and then, two seconds later, needing to fucking see her already.

I turn to Effy. I'm about to open my mouth but it seems that she's way, way ahead of me.

"I'm a twat, Katie sits shotgun, you and Emily are still the gayest fucks on the planet. Why, thank you so much for telling me things I already know, Naomi."

She says all that to me very sweetly... like a cherub. And without ever taking her eyes off the road.

Effy Stonem is one talented (and annoyingly precise) motherfucker.

And suddenly, feeling all vengeful, I come up with the brilliant idea of bugging her about her newly acquired relationship status with Katie. I mean, I honestly want to get to the bottom of whatever it is between them.

I'm scrolling down Effy's inbox and 'Katie' is a prevalent name. So's 'Panda'. Freddie's name is spread every ten messages like maraschino cherries found few and far between in Effy's fruit salad of an inbox.

Katie's, though... If Katie's name was in that fruit salad, hers would be a plentiful fruit. A pineapple or something.

"So what's with you two? You act like a married couple."

The uncalled for question makes Effy shift gears sooner than she should've, making the car lurch forward awkwardly before it gets used to the higher speed.

Like the car, Effy regains her cool, squares her shoulders and says, "Oh no, you and Emily have got that married couple thing down already."

"What? That right?"

She doesn't even blink. "Yeah, totally."

"Oh..." I trail, feeling embarrassed, and then...

"Eff?"

"Hmmm?"

"Stop trying to change the subject."

But Effy just smiles her sneaky smile and Effy, cunning as a fox, suggests that I open the fags we just bought.

And it's so obvious that this is another one of her ploys to try and kill the conversation. But I figure, fuck it. If she wants me to shut up for a while, I'll shut up. Free fags get me cooperating.

I'm easy like that.

* * *

"So... You and Katie, huh?"

I don't know about you, but I can be a relentless, narking piece of shite if I want to. Whatever, Effy's left me with no choice.

"Yeah, me and Katie. There a problem?" Puffs of smoke are coming out of her nose semi-angrily and she strongly resembles a very stoned and provoked dragon.

"That's just it," I break in. "There should be one, but to me it looks like it's not there anymore."

"Well, she _is _a little hot-cold-hot-cold, mood-swinging cow sometimes. But lately she's all right."

Effy takes her eyes off the road. She looks at me with these twinkly, happy Effy Eyes and time stops for a second because Effy being this twinkly-happy-looking is just 'not-fucking-happening'.

Like... _whoa._

"We're sorted... And it's nice," she says. Slowly. Carefully. Like those words are precious.

Twinkly. Happily.

One line from Effy is as informative as a thousand from JJ. So "_we're sorted and it's nice_," is good enough for me, mates.

Good enough.

* * *

We've reached the Fitch residence already and it's not long until Effy notices that she was the only one who got out of the car.

Her head pops back inside through the driver's window. Like those toy birds that come out of cuckoo clocks when it's time for you to get off your arse and fucking _do something_.

"What's wrong?" she says, bored.

I take a drag of my cigarette and blow the smoke at Effy's face in an effort to distract her (or blow her away, if reality permits it).

I even flash her an all's-well-and-dandy smile for good measure.

Effy's unmoved by my tricks. "You're still in the car," she tells me like I'm not _highly aware of it_ (which I am).

"Yeah. So?"

Effy's eyes pan across the car's interior, probably looking for things that will give me away. Like, she suspects to find that I might have accidentally super-glued my bum to her car seat or something insane like that. Then her gaze settles on my seatbelt. I'm still wearing it. Effy shakes her head in teasing disapproval and she points at my seatbelt and tells me, "Now, that's just weak."

Okay, fine. I'm getting out.

I unfasten my seatbelt, open the door and get out of the car so escape-artist-fast that Houdini would've been so proud.

Effy figures it clever to reward me with a mocking golf clap to which I reward back with a scowl and a "do you like jazz?" flip off fest (pretending to play a trumpet whilst emphatically sticking out my middle fingers at her to an imaginary tune in my head).

Effy only laughs in return and I wonder why I even fucking bother with my comebacks.

She saunters over to me in that infuriatingly smooth way of hers and she slings an arm around my shoulders. "Care to tell Effy what it is that's getting you?" she says, giving me a quick squeeze before tilting her head to the side in an expectant manner.

I draw in a deep breath because this is Effy and she's probably had hypnosis as a hobby since she was five and try as I might, I can never _not_ answer her questions.

"It's just that... Every time I'm here I think their Mum's going to come out and give me a piece of her mind... that or castrate me."

"Cutting off the balls she wishes you had?"

"Exactly."

"Oh," she just says. And she walks on anyway, unaffected by my confession. It isn't long until she turns around to find me on the same spot from five seconds ago. "What the fuck? You just gonna stand there?"

YES, I want to say. YES, I stopped myself from saying. But Effy reads my expression and that YES is as good as fucking said.

Effy rolls her eyes. "It's going to be fine. Or did you get Emily pregnant while I was away? Because then we'd have a problem."

"Would you stop with the fucking hypothetical cock jokes?"

"Naomi, they're well funny. Stop being such a jokefucker, yeah?"

"But I'm not even that butch! I'd like, really appreciate it if you lot would stop giving me a penis," I argue heatedly. Because everyone was doing it. Thomas, Cook, Katie... I mean, it's not fair that Emily never gets to go through this. Why don't they give _her_ a hypothetical penis?

I imagine Emily with a cock...

Then I immediately take back everything I just said.

And Effy has none of it, continuing on her quest to ridicule me. "But the Dog Lord of Azerbaijan sees a sex change in your future!"

"Oh, fuck you!"

"Look, we're here already. You're still alive. No fire-breathing monster Mum has bitten off your head yet, has it?"

"No," I admit weakly.

"Well, then... doorbell", Effy says, and then she motions to me in a 'you do the honours' kind of way.

I've walked all this way and now Effy expects me to ring the doorbell? What if Rob answers it? What would I say? Would he be able to tell I haven't been working out that much? Oh, fuck, I should've gone to the gym with Keiran... Oh, Christ, what if Jenna answers it? I'll fucking _die_ if Jenna opens the door.

_Ding-dong._

What the wanking fuck?

I don't remembering ringing the door bell—fucking Effy!

As the door opens, Effy gracefully side-steps out of open view, leaving me bare and defenseless against the Fitch who has opened the door.

The second before I come face to face with whoever that is, I mouth a quick 'traitorous bitch' at Effy who ironically gives me the peace sign (like that alone can fucking cut it).

When I see James' young, definitely-not-a-parent face, a choir of angels take their golden trumpets out and start singing _Hallelujah_ full-blast in my head.

James realises that it's me and his expression of indifference is wiped away and replaced with pure, unadulterated, childish wonder. Like he expects me to say, "Hugh Hefner sent me to you," instead of the more appropriate "Is my incredibly hot girlfriend around?"

Which I didn't say either, of course.

"Why, hullo, Naomi!" he greets loudly. And I really wish he wouldn't do that. Jenna might be on the prowl.

"Umm. Hi, James," I say.

"Emily didn't say you were coming. If I'd known, I would've worn my number."

"Your number?" I repeat, really confused.

Before Emily's little brother could explain, Katie comes barging down the stairs crying bloody murder. "James! James, you fuck, what did you do to my dress?" Every word louder for every step she descends.

Katie's looking well angry by the time she reaches her brother at the door. Like she's really intent on cutting James' head off. She has a towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped around her head. A raging bull in fluffy towels. If she wasn't so menacing I would have done something stupid like... I dunno... Laugh at her.

Then she's all up on James' face, grabbing at his ear viciously and just like that, James is reduced to a whining mess. "Ow! Ow! Owww! Muuuum! Mum! Katie's hurting me!"

"Mum's not here, loser." And Katie is more than happy to twist it harder.

"Can you explain just what the fuck you did to this?" Katie demands, holding up something. It's a hanger. And hanging from that hanger is a tiny and tight-looking dark dress with five inches of a different-patterned textile that's so out of place sewn onto it.

"I added a little length. It wouldn't cover my thighs," James huffs indignantly, fists swinging at Katie even though her other hand is keeping him at a safe distance by holding his head.

"Who the fuck is going to care if it covers your thighs or not?"

James points at me with his eyes and something tells me I'm in deep shit.

Katie sees it and her face scrunches up, showing her distaste all too well. She's turns to me and stares hard like she doesn't believe it.

Why do I feel like I want to run back to my Mum... possibly in tears?

"Jesus Christ! He's in love with you too?" Katie says, too high-strung.

I shrug hopelessly at that. It's not like I wanted for this to happen, for fuck's sake.

Katie shakes her head at me like I've disappointed her in some way. She rounds on James again and she _growls _at him like we're all in a crazy jungle and Katie's out for blood.

"Fine! You can fucking have your prissy little number!" Katie shouts with a finality. She then hurls the dress at James and it wraps itself around his head like a lemur. Or a sloth. Or those stupid monkey toys with the long arms and velcro on their hands.

Katie goes off to "find something decent to wear", leaving James rubbing his ear consolingly, and angrily muttering "bitch" in Katie's wake.

Effy and I watch as their little brother shakes it off and composes himself. He turns to us politely and says, "Don't mind her. She's got premature mental pause."

Wait...

Did he just say _mental pause_?

Before I can even try to stop it, a snort escapes me. "Really?" I ask, incredibly amused. Then Effy elbows me in the ribs. Probably for being insensitive or something.

James scratches his head thoughtfully before saying, "That's what she said. I'm not sure, though. Lately she's gone non-stop mental that I'm not quite sure if she really has premature mental pause. Fucking dinocologist must've made a mistake with the diagnosis, I guess..."

"JAMES!"

It's Emily this time. She sounds angry too. She sounds angry from the kitchen.

"What now?" he asks, annoyed.

"You haven't done the dishes yet."

James eyes widen in realisation. "Oh, shit," he says before bolting back into the house, abandoning me and Effy at their door.

So now we're staring into the Fitch hallway, not quite sure what to make of the information we just received.

"Dinocologist," I say.

"Premature mental pause," Effy replies.

Effy and I lock eyes.

"Oh-kaaaaay," I draw out awkwardly.

Effy's eyebrows are surprised, high up on her brow.

"That explains a lot."

* * *

When the twins walk out, all wonderful and eye-stealing. With the wind in their hair, and the sun shining down on their pale faces like it missed them, I couldn't stop myself from imagining them naked.

Sorry, I'm gay and they're fit. Reflex action.

They're moving in slow motion. And I want to slap myself because... why the fuck haven't I gotten use to this yet? Why? Why? Why? Because really, I should've gotten used to this by now.

Emily glows when she sees me and she walks faster to close the distance and in my head I hear myself saying, _here she comes, here she comes_.

"Hey," Emily says brightly.

She's close enough and I'm in real-time again.

"Hey," I breathe out, feeling incredibly weak in the knees from the moment she walked out that door.

I slide my arms around her waist and she throws hers around my neck. We've done this countless times already and it's always this wonderful.

We kiss and my eyes close. I see nothing and just...

Feel it all.

* * *

Once Panda's let loose she whirls around the place in a kind of tornado-on-crack abandon. Like a mouse cursor hovering erratically over a random-scene-of-nature desktop background.

But I get her excitement.

It's nice here. Like, _really _nice. You can smell the trees in the wind. And it's quiet save for the birds. They're singing songs in their own morse code and I have to say that I find it pleasing to listen to. Peaceful.

Christ, I sound like a fucking hippie.

The water is murky. Sort of lazy looking. And it's in this shade of blue that just... calms you down. Just a cool, understated, off-beat blue that's climbing over the fence to be green. Not bright and sparkly like if you look at it long enough, your eyes would start to hurt.

This place, it's just so easy to take in. It's the perfect fix for the pre-exam tension.

And this is what I need at the moment. Something easy.

* * *

Effy takes a picnic basket out of her car. A fucking perfect _picnic basket _with extra food and grapes and shit. Not to mention bottles of wine and champagne (with the respective glass and flute that all of us notice and go "But, Eff, we _never_ use those" at, silently in our heads). It's even more bizarre when Effy starts passing around sandwiches.

"Used to make these for my brother. They're a pleasure to the palette, according to him," she says as everyone's taking their first bite.

"Egg and cress!" Panda exclaims with a full mouth, bits of bread flying out with every syllable. "Eff, you never said you could whippy up a super yumyum sandwich! I'd like some for my birthday, if it's okay?"

"Sure Panda," Effy says before turning to Katie expectantly as if saying, "Well...?"

Katie, chewing thoughtfully, looks back at Effy. Thoughtfully. "Considering the fact I don't even like cress, this is pretty good." Katie takes another bite, giving Effy a little wink afterwards. Now Effy has this silly grin on her face and I like being not confused about them anymore.

Because Katie and Effy, they're "sorted and it's nice." So I leave it at that.

Emily purrs contentedly beside me. "Nice," Emily says in a way that can only mean that she's bitten into ham and cheese. She confirms my theory in a second by saying, "I got ham and cheese. Yours, babe?"

I haven't tasted mine yet so I don't know. I dig in and chew, figuring out the flavours. It could be tuna or chicken. I'm baffled by the ambiguity. Or maybe all the smoking is fucking up my taste buds.

"This is tuna," I say, unsure of myself. But then I don't notice a fishy aftertaste (if there _is _such a thing as a fishy aftertaste, that is) so I quickly strikethrough my first answer, settling with an "it's chicken," instead.

Emily insists we swap sandwiches. And that's how it is with us. We're in each other's shoes any chance we can get. Like, she comes to rallies with me now and I can't tell you what kind of kick I get from hearing my girlfriend's husky voice amplified via megaphone.

Or like...

Emily sometimes mentions that she's heard _this song_, she's seen _that movie _or she's read _that book._ And it won't be long before I've heard _that song_, seen _that movie_ or read _that book_ too.

Her world. My world. Gradually settling their differences.

Emily opens up my sandwich and inspects the insides. She closes it up again, still undecided, and has some. I like watching her eat, you know. She has such a strong jaw and it never fails to turn me on when she moves it up and down like that. When she talks. When she eats. When she trails a train of kisses from my stomach up to my neck...

Reality Emily steals me away from Fantasy Emily (the one who just ravished me in my thoughts) by shoving my chicken-possibly-tuna sandwich back in my hands.

"I can't fucking tell," she says, her frustration shining through, equally confused as I am.

"Chicken," Effy confirms belatedly from where she is, bent over the picnic basket. She straightens up, revealing a champagne bottle in her hold.

"All right. Who wants to pop this fucker?" she announces grandly, auctioneer-style.

"I've always wanted to try that."

All heads whip towards Emily. All those heads have a raised pair of eyebrows to boot.

As expected, Effy's the first to recover. "Okay, then Emily," she says, not missing a beat as she hands the bottle over to Emily. "Fire away."

A slight fear takes over me when I watch Emily fumble with the foil. And then it grows in intensity when she's reached the wire cage.

"Wait!"

Emily almost drops the champagne bottle. "What?" she says, sounding irritated.

"Is it chilled enough?"

And what was I going to do? Walk up to Emily and check if the thing has a fucking fever?

"I brought a fucking ice bucket," Effy says and somehow that's all self-explanatory.

"Great. Now I'm having second thoughts," Emily says, looking at the bottle like it's a loaded gun.

"Don't be a pussy, Ems. Open the bubbly already!" Katie says, tipping her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could peer over them at Emily in an overbearing manner.

"She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," I say, jumping to Emily's defense and warding Katie off.

After that, Emily shoots me a dirty look that says _don't patronise me_.

Shit, I think to myself. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"God, you're all such wankers," Emily says. And I have a bad feeling that she's gone to that place again. That place she goes to, you know, to try and prove us wrong. Which means someone's eye is going to have a run-in with a flying cork sometime soon.

"Let Effy do it," I plead, reaching to take the bottle away from her.

Emily slaps my hands away and it stings more than it should have. "Babe, I can fucking do this, all right?"

I'm still itching to grab it from her but with a sigh, I drop my hands to my sides. "Fine. But don't pull the cork out. You have to twist the _bottle_, Ems. Okay? Twist it until it pops. Don't try and fucking pull the—"

_POP!_

My eyes shut instinctively. Because hey, cork bullet!

Each of us lets out a shriek and a curse or two before it all comes down to an empty silence. The only thing you could hear is the soft fizzle coming from what's left of the champagne bottle. And I think that if I could concentrate harder, I'd be able to hear Emily's guilt.

I open my eyes. I planned on opening my mouth to yell at her too but what stops me is the glorious sight of a wet, white tank top and the tits that are like... _protruding_ under it.

"Whizzer!"

That's what Panda says.

"Holyfuck! MygirlfriendisSOFUCKINGHOT!"

That's what I'd say.

If I could say anything, that is.

"Okay, is anyone hurt?" Emily asks, starting the headcount (and looking _mighty _fine while she's at it).

"No," Effy says.

"Nice one, cow," Katie says.

"Ohhh, champagne!" Panda just says in that oblivious way of hers, already stealing the bottle from Emily.

And then all eyes are on me (but I don't know that because...) I, on the other hand, am still busy looking at a certain someone's fucking chest.

I'm not hurt or anything severe... but I'd like to volunteer Emily to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

It's getting fucking hard to breathe again because of her.

Especially because of those perky, juicy, _symmetrical_...

"NAOMS?"

"Whah?" I say. But _TITS_, I think.

"You hurt?" Emily asks, tipping my chin up with her fingers. She takes my face in her hand and turns my head from side to side, surveying any possible damage while I follow along limply.

She lets go and looks at me, worry etched on her adorable features.

I blink back at her dumbly. And then I say, rather mindlessly—or maybe this is my vagina talking or whatever... But I say to her,

"Can you take your top off?"

* * *

And that, my friends, is how you get laid.

* * *

The sun isn't as glaring but we all think it best to put on some sunscreen. Me and Emily are happy to use this as another good excuse to touch each other. This is the closest we're ever going to get to _oilzzz and stuff_.

I'm rubbing her back. Touching her neck. And her body's moving...

Okay.

I'm feeling really hot and bothered right now.

And I wish I could solely blame the sun for it.

* * *

We've been lazing around for most of the afternoon. All of us spread across a very wide picnic blanket of stereotypical red and white tartan. Five girls in bikinis, soaking up sunshine and each other's company, talking shit about everything under the sun.

And when I mean anything under the sun, I _mean _anything under the sun. Like, for example, Panda says that before college, her life's goal was to invent bacon perfume. Or this food stall I came upon on the way to the grocers last week. It was called "Sanitary Tacos". It's no surprise that Effy and I spend fifteen minutes going on and on about how they got their name and we all decide it's because reports of cockroaches found taking refuge in Mexican food have seem to be running rampant lately and naming the stand, "Sanitary Tacos" was just a desperate attempt to save the business. And we even touch the subject of Kanye West's shutter glasses. About how ridiculous they are (coming from Emily). About how they're so not (coming from Katie).

No one sides with Katie, if you're asking. I mean, what are those things _for _anyway? And don't you dare say, "because our eyes are the windows of the soul and they could do with some shutter-inspired accessorising" because Katie already said that and even Panda rolled her eyes at her.

And this is _Panda_ we're talking about, people.

No one mentions the exams. Effy and I don't bring up Katie's 'premature mental pause' either.

We can save all that for a rainy day.

* * *

A quarter to four, Effy taps me on the shoulder. "C'mon, Naomi, ice cream."

She drags me off to the sides, near the dirt path and the bushes and proceed to be confounded. I don't see any ice cream. Soon enough, Effy takes a fag-pack out of her board shorts.

Smoking break. Right. Should've known.

"Katie can't stand it, right?" I say, as I take the fresh fag Effy holds up for me.

"Yep, she's quite the saint," Effy deadpans, lighting my cigarette expertly.

Effy's wearing these round, purple tinted glasses. The kind you see on John Lennon... only purple.

She's watching Panda and the twins through her purple lenses. I follow suit.

Panda's already by the lake. Her toes must have already tasted the water. As for the twins... they've gotten up to fix the picnic blanket. Well _Emily_ fixes it, flaps it out to get it all nice and spread out and everything and as per usual, Katie sits back to watch.

I focus on Emily as a breeze lifts her hair back.

God, she's gorgeous.

And Katie gets up, makes an entrance into the scene. And I rethink.

God, _they're_ gorgeous.

From where I'm standing the resemblance is uncanny. They really are twins. And they laugh, and they toss their heads back. It's too fucking perfect and I think it's going to take a lot of work for me to look away from this.

Then I hear bells ringing. It's a happy sound. And it gives me the extra push to tear my eyes away from Emily and Katie.

I see the vendor in the distance. With his ice-cream cart and his cliché straw boater hat. You know, like what Dick Van Dyke wore when he was dancing with the cartoon penguins in _Mary Poppins._

Just as he's about to stop in front of us, Effy throws her fag out of sight. She looks as innocent as fucking ever and I don't want to look like some demon next to her so I drop my fag and crush it under my sneaker. There it shall stay until the ice cream is procured.

The environmentalist in me vows to pick it up later.

So this man, in his late twenties or whatever, parks his ice cream mobile in front of me and Effy and offers us in the sunniest manner, "Fancy Italian Gelato, girls? Easy on the ass and hips, a tasty wonder for your lips!"

He kisses the tips of his fingers explosively as visible punctuation and that's just... just so endearing.

"So what've we got, Mister?" Effy asks, trying to discern the label-less lumps of frozen dessert.

"Crowd pleasers today, miss. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, and pistacchio."

Effy and I exchange glances. We silently agree that we like the way he says Pistacchio.

_Pee-STAHK-yoh_

_So _Italian of him.

I order two vanillas for the twins (apparently it's possible for them to agree on something) and after a little deliberation I settle on strawberry for myself.

"What does Panda want?" I ask Effy who's still eyeing the selections.

"Chocolate," Effy says. "She has a _thing_ for chocolate."

"Does that _thing_ have to do anything with Thomas?" I guess.

"Possibly. But I strongly believe it has to do with chocolate."

Well, she has a point. Like she always does.

"I'm having Pistacchio, please," Effys says, pronouncing it just like the ice cream man did.

_Pee-STAHK-yoh._

Effy makes it sound sexy and naughty... and Italian!

Is there anything this girl can't bloody do?

"Thanks for the treat, Naomi. Cheers!"

Apparently, there is. She can't fucking pay for ice cream _she_ dragged _me _along to buy.

"What the bollocking—" I start. Then the man hands out three ice cream cones for me to take. And I take them and my hands are full and he has successfully censored the rest of my profanity.

And now I can't even reach for my notes.

"Cash in your right side-pocket, right?" Effy asks and I really want to punch her right now.

For the nth time today, I sigh. "No, in the left," I grumble.

Why do I feel like I've been mugged?

* * *

Upon the exposure of ice cream, there's this face a person makes that's very similar to a face you would make if you managed to catch a glimpse of the world's cutest baby dressed in a costume of your favourite animal for Halloween (When I was two, Mum got me in an elephant getup to take me trick-or-treating. She's got fucking pictures as proof and let's just say the look on her face that night was nothing short of unadulterated bliss).

I assure you. Panda, Katie and Emily? They're making those faces right now and astonishingly, I have Effy to thank for this. For helping me land this investment.

Panda devours her chocolate gelato like some sort of champion. Her ice cream cone's existence is short-lived and she's been staring longingly at Katie's for a good while now. Katie senses the imminent threat from the girl and casually gets the fuck away from her, finding an old log atop a thick layer of gravel. She figures it might be a good spot to finish her ice cream and this is where Emily and I soon join her to keep our cones safe from Panda too.

It's sort of mean of us and this obviously saddens Panda. So, dessertless and bored, she goes ahead to start a wanking scene. "Hey, what's wrong with you lot? It's a tip-toppy day and we haven't gone for a dip yet!"

"You're right, Panda," Effy says, finishing off her Pistacchio gelato. "These ladies don't know what they're missing."

Effy kicks her shorts off and Panda does the same. When they're down to being half naked, the five of us do nothing but look back at each other, waiting for the next move.

That 'next move' comes from Panda who begins stomping her feet impatiently and then going, "Race you all! Last one in has to marry Cook!" And with that, she promptly turns on her heel to start sprinting for the water, screaming, "Woooo-_fucking_-hooo!" from the top of her lungs.

Effy has a big laugh at that and she tosses her John Lennon shades aside. She looks at the twins and I, says to us challengingly, "Well, what will it be, girls?"

And I'm sitting there, thinking, "I'd like to eat my fucking strawberry gelato in peace, thanks."

But then Emily sticks her ice cream cone straight into the gravel. Just _literally_, sticks it in! And I can only watch in disbelief.

"Hey, I paid for that," I point out to her in semi-not-quite-out-there outrage.

There's a dangerous gleam in her brown eyes. "No fucking way I'm letting you marry Cook," Emily says fiercely.

My heart stops... And I drop my cone accidentally but I sort of don't care about that anymore.

She grabs my hand and just like that, we're off and flying across the grass. Besides the hard pounding in my chest, behind us I could hear cheering, howling and laughing. And I find out, a moment after, that I'm a big contributor to the hysteria as well.

I feel so fucking...

I'm breathing heavy. My legs are burning, my heart's racing...

Happy.

I'm so fucking happy. I can't even...

Emily picks up the pace, tugs me a bit harder. My little red engine that could, running up that hill with me. And she thinks I can do anything.

Anything. Fucking _anything_! As long as she's here.

So I run, I run like it's for my fucking life. I'm running for something bigger than I can amount to by myself. I'm running for Emily—_with_ Emily. There's no looking back.

There's no _going _back.

This is it. This is real. This is my girl.

My Emily.

And I'll never be the same again.

* * *

Underwater, I'm cold all around. Except for my hand, it's still in Emily's.

It's warm where our skins meet.

* * *

"Who wants popcorn?" Effy asks, fairly dry by now.

Katie hasn't gotten her hair wet as she was the last to go in and for her, gone was the whole point of dipping in _entirely_. Emily, Panda and I are still dripping though, suitably splashed. After all that excitement I think it's too soon for food.

"Oh, whizzer! Popcorn! I do! I do!" Panda says, getting up and waving her arms around like an excited, wet chimpanzee.

And now the hard part...

"So how do we get it cooked?" Katie asks.

I turn to Effy expectantly. She looks back at me, confused. "What?" she says at all of us.

"Did you bring a pot or what?" I ask.

Effy shakes her head, showing no sign of remorse.

Oh, Christ. I roll my eyes at Effy. "Why did you buy popcorn and not bring something to cook it in?"

"Panda likes popcorn. So I got popcorn," Effy says simply.

Panda smiles at that. "And you got a whacker-load of it, Eff." She holds the pack of kernels up thoughtfully. "Thanks so much!"

"That's an awful lot," Emily agrees. "Shame we can't get it cooked."

Then Panda bounces to her feet. "I've got an idea!" she says before she disappears to get something from her bag.

She's back with her cell phone. "I've been thinking... Our mobiles send out electro-magnetic waves when somebody rings us, right?"

I dunno. It sounds wrong. But I think all of us are curious to hear the rest of Panda's theory so we don't interrupt with fact-checks and just nod to whatever she's saying.

"And aren't those the same you find in microwaves? Well, if we got people to call us, we could generate enough electro-magnetic waves to get all this popped and corned!" she lays out, shaking the bag of kernels in her fist passionately.

"We're not trying that." I say, shooting the idea out of the sky. That's before I can realise I was being a total fucking killjoy.

"Come on, Naoms, it'd be fun," Emily tries.

Katie gets up and grabs the bag of unpopped popcorn from Panda. "Fuck it, I say it's worth a try. How does this work again, Panda?" she says, playing nice.

"We toss our mobiles together and sprinkle in the 'pixie dust' also known as the 'popcorn kernels'. It's a simple enough principle."

"Then what?"

"Have our boyfriends ring us," Panda says with confidence.

The Fitch twins retort.

"I don't have a boyfriend," they chorus.

"Naomi will do," Effy says to Emily with a cheeky wink and I redden on the fucking spot.

Great, I think. No getting popcorn kernels on my mobile. Safe.

"What about me?" Katie butts in.

Anyone who isn't Katie Fitch says, "Cook," like it's the most obvious answer in the world.

Katie, who doesn't have enough fingers to flip everyone off, balls her fists at her sides instead. "Fuck no! I'm not ringing _Cook_ to have _him_ ring _me_."

Panda handles Katie. "I'm afraid you're Mrs. Cook now, Katie. Last one in, yeah?"

"Fuck you all," Katie sighs, dialing Cook already.

We understand that we're all under the temporary rule General Panda so we follow her every order with a certain mock obedience. The most hilarious thing she's asked of us is to have me situated a hundred paces away from the 'cooking site' so Emily escorts me to where I am to be exiled.

"I still don't get why I have to be far away," I say when we get there.

Emily kisses my cheek chastely like she's dropping me off for boarding school or something devastating like that and she tells me, "Panda says that if you're too close, the electromagnetic waves might be strong enough to burn the popcorn."

Oh, Christ. Why do I put up with this shit?

"Don't worry, babe. We're only like, thirty metres away," Emily says, trying to rid me of my pout.

She takes my hand to place my phone in it. Then she looks at me all coquettish, slowly backing away to join the others at the spot where they'll assemble their mobiles together. When Emily's taken about ten steps away, she makes a phone fist, her pinkie near her mouth and her thumb at her ear.

"Call me," she mouths with a wink.

I resist the strong impulse to clutch my chest. It feels like someone shot me through the heart.

Really, now. That girl's too fucking cute.

* * *

Thomas rings Panda, Freddie rings Effy, Cook rings Katie and I ring Emily.

After fifteen minutes of continuous ringing and ringing...

_SHAZAM!_

Nothing.

"What do we do now?" I ask after I've paced a hundred paces back to them.

Then Katie, really amiable and shit, welcomes me with, "Duh, Naomi. Don't be daft. We're answering our phones and inviting the boys over. What else?"

See? This is exactly why I like Emily better.

* * *

When the boys arrive, they drop their duffle bags and knapsacks of booty. Judging by the heavy sounds their luggage makes, they've brought an ample amountof booty. And extra booty is good, mates. Very good.

"Ladies," they greet just before bowing in front of us theatrically.

I wonder if they talked that stunt over on the way here. It looked practiced. It warms my heart how hard they try.

Oh, boys.

JJ takes on a stance. "The night's still young and so are we, it's time to—"

"Jay?" Freddie interrupts, his eyebrow raised comically. "Really?"

And I'm with Freddie on this one. I'm always up for anything that shuts JJ the fuck up.

Cook doesn't seem to think the same, though. He steps in and claps Freddie on the back. "Awww, Freds. Let our little fruit bat have his speech," he insists and then, turning to JJ he goes, "what was that, Jay? 'The night's still young and so are we'?"

JJ nods meekly and Cook gets right back on it, roaring, "So I say it's time to party, party, PAR-TAY!" He's pumping his fists in the air emphatically, doing a well job of cranking things up a notch (or twenty) that he's got us all in a hooting frenzy.

But I overhear JJ anyway when he, with his head down, says, "That wasn't what I was going to say."

And then before you know it, Thomas slumps an arm around JJ to says, "You can make your speech next time, Mark Antony."

JJ looks up and meets my eye, doesn't hold my stare long enough for me to offer a smile.

* * *

The boys are circled around a mass of wood, stones and coal, trying to light a fire. Because, you know, that's the sort of thing you leave to boys. You can always count on them to burn stuff.

Once they have it going, Thomas makes for his magic schoolbag and dutifully brings out a roll of aluminum foil and a camping fork. He asks for the popcorn kernels and some oil so Effy takes him to the car because she's left it all there. Panda follows along with the bag of popcorn kernels.

Effy's torso disappears into the trunk for a while before emerging with a bottle of oil (_oilzzz_, I think). She hands it over to Thomas, who already tore of a wide piece of aluminum and set it flat against the car's hood.

He drizzles the foil with oil and grabs three handfuls worth of kernels and gets it all at the middle. Then he quickly folds the sides up so nothing would spill. He continues folding until he has this nice aluminum ball with a stiff, rolled-up side. That's where he pokes his campfire fork through and now he has got this silver lantern thingy that looks like a hobo alien's bindle.

Now, we're all watching this wildlife survival scene play out before us as Thomas sits by the fire, holding his makeshift popper above it. We're observing with high levels of interest and I'm taking mental notes because this is top-shit, man.

Okay, I guess this is what boy scouts in Africa do when they decide to have a slumber party out in the savannah or whatever. And I think it's so fucking neat. Like, I'm going to teach some kids that one day.

In due time, everyone has a bit of the popcorn. Not Panda though. Panda has _a lot. _Up to this moment, she's stuffing herself with it, staring at Thomas with this grateful and starry-eyed look. I laugh despite myself because I'm seriously convinced that Panda's seriously convinced that Thomas is a superhero. Right. Captain Sexy Lumps.

Thank God Emily doesn't have a superhero name for me.

* * *

Freddie's over by the water, occupying one of the two deckchairs Effy cared to bring along. He isn't facing the water, though. He's turned the chair around so it could face the fire. Before I arrived to take the free seat he was looking over at us the way he usually does: In a state of broody quiet with a joint in his hand.

So I've been sitting next to him, nibbling on my chips for a good two minutes now. I find it totally annoying that he's too high to not be aware of my presence. Now, that's too much, even for Freddie.

"Hey, Fredster," I finally say.

I startle him, of course. No surprise there.

"Shit," Freddie says, and I can tell that he feels bad to not have noticed me. "Naomi! I didn't know you were there," he continues with a nervous laugh.

Then I get to business.

In my best 'I'm only saying...' voice, I say, "You fucked up my reflector, you know?"

"Your what?"

"My reflector. Shiny things you put on bikes and unicycles and the like so cars don't fucking run you over? Yeah, well, you broke mine."

Freddie looks really sorry. Like a sad raccoon. "I'm sorry, I guess."

He hangs his head down and for a second there I fear that he might've fallen asleep. Turns out, he hasn't.

"Look, I can get you a new one," he proposes excitedly, almost leaping out of his deck chair.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I probably have extras in the shed. Promise."

He's never going to get me a new one.

Freddie's always had this cloud of despair following him around. Holding him back, gnawing away at his insides. I mean, the boy's got such a handsome smile. This drug-induced haze kind of hides it.

I nick his spliff from him and take a hit. "You always stoned, Freds?"

He let's out a soft, "Hah!" and then he says, "More like 'always screwed'. But not in the way I like."

He laughs. And I find myself laughing at that too because Freddie can be turn-of-the moment funny if he wants to.

"Well, too bad we can't all be like you, Naomi. You got your girl already," Freddie says, taking a swig of the wine. His eyes betray him, they're hooked on Effy.

I cross my arms because somehow we've reached a touchy subject. "Yeah, well. It wasn't easy. It _isn't _easy."

"Why so, Naoms?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

And it shocks the both of us that he doesn't have to wait too long for a reply. I lean in, give him back his spliff and tell him my secrets.

"Well, getting your girl, that's just the start. The real challenge is in keeping her. Every day you're faced with decisions... To do things you wouldn't normally do... Sometimes even things that scare the fuck out of you. But you do them anyway, because you love her. And losing her isn't an option."

He's asking all the hard questions but here I am, answering them anyway.

Freddie's been listening intently and when I'm done speaking he takes another slug from the bottle. As if the wine's going to help my words go down or wherever it's supposed to go. "You're a nice surprise, y'know?" he says as we exchange wine and chips.

"Oh yeah?" I say before tasting the wine myself. "Is it my food? Or my winning personality?"

Freddie snickers and then grins at me. "I just never thought you'd care about somebody this much. Yeah, I know you gave a fuck. But it was about the world. I can tell by the way you'd never shut up during Politics that all this stuff going round, all these issues... they're really important to you... but focusing all that on just one person?" Freddie pauses, purses his lips. "Thought it'd never happen."

I laugh softly at this. I drink my wine and watch with worried and fascinated eyes as Emily wields a sparkler. She dances around the fire like a pretty, electric wood nymph or something. And it's so sublime. A sight that would've driven Shakespeare to write a thousand more sonnets.

"Believe me, Freds. I had it coming."

I mean, come on. I loved the girl the first time I saw her. No contest.

* * *

The boys have not only brought their blokey, useless (with the exception of Thomas) selves but they came with a radio. Effy's currently acting as the DJ of the night and we all have to listen to whatever frequency Effy is on.

Pandora and Thomas have been dancing long before Effy turned the thing on and they're still at it until now, full fucking steam ahead. Cook and JJ have been at it too, just hopping around akin to rabbits on acid. They look like they're having the time of their lives, jerking up and down, the beer in their Carlsberg cans sloshing out unwatched.

Katie's with Effy at the radio. They're sitting together. Not touching or anything... But close enough to be considered 'sitting together'.

If that doesn't make sense to you or anything, Gestalt has this Law of Proximity. If you're close enough, you can be in the group. So the brain automatically, instinctively says you're together.

I wonder if Freddie's thinking the same. In the dark, you could tell he's watching them both. Two girls he's fucked over in some way. In the dark, you wish he'd do something about it already.

And he does. He gets up and goes over to them just as Effy reclines backwards to lie flat on the grass. Her eyes are probably reflecting the full moon above because yes, Effy Stonem has _those_ kind of eyes.

Freddie stands beside her, the tips of his high cuts almost touching her arms. He kneels down beside Effy and Katie sees this. And the thing is, Katie doesn't seem to be bothered by it at all. It's like she even approves of it happening because there's this little smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she politely turns her head to the other side.

As much as a bonfire will allow me to see, it's evident that Freddie's totally taken by Effy. His eyes never leave hers as he reaches over to gently tug the radio out of her grasp. He only looks away to find the tuner, but other than that, his stare is permanently glued on her.

Moments like this slap me in the face because this is probably what it feels like when other people look at me and Emily. It's this ache that hurts the heart. Crushing it in good and bad ways.

Freddie listens as he turns the knob, still boring his eyes into Effy in a way that makes even me shudder. He stops the tuning when he hears a familiar electric piano intro. It's King Harvest's "Dancing in the Moonlight" and Freddie finally cracks a grin. He sets the radio down and he offers his hand to Effy and... how can she not take it?

They get up and walk over to the middle, consequently leaving Katie alone. Katie scoots over to the radio that had fallen flat on its speakers. She sets it straight and the music isn't so muffled anymore.

"Ho! Ho! I love this tune!" Cook cries out deliriously, somehow knocking himself over Katie because he's so fucking excited about it all.

Now she's pinned underneath him and he carries on reaching for the radio. Thankfully, he turns the correct knob and the song's smashing out, louder and merrier than ever.

Giving us all the more reason to get up and go 'dancing in the fucking moonlight' and everything.

"Cook? Cook? Fucking get off me!"

"Awwright, awwright. Fucking relax, man. Give the lad a break?" Cook says, struggling to get to his feet.

Katie wriggles free, gets up and dusts herself off. She turns to Cook, starts kicking his legs. "I could whack your head in if I wanted, fucking tosser!" she growls at him angrily.

"Whoaaa! Whoaaa!" Cook goes, as Katie chases him around, aiming for his shins. Cook turns around and grabs her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. "Katiekins! What do you mean whacking my head in? You wouldn't want to do that, princess!" Cook tries to sway.

Katie kicks him in the balls. She says to him then, triumphantly, "Oh, yeah? Why wouldn't I want to do that, Cook? It seems like a pretty good idea to me."

Cook's bent over, grabbing his crotch. He tries to stand straighter, and he does, a bit. So he puts on a smile and asks Katie in this weak but undeniably charming way, "Because... Who's gonna dance with you then?"

The anger slowly leaves Katie's face and she gives Cook a small, crooked smile. "Fuck it," she says before grabbing Cook by the arm and pulling him closer to the other couples and JJ.

Now they're all dancing...

I've felt Emily itching to dance with me the moment I came back from my talk with Freddie. I better get a move on.

"Dance?" I whisper into her ear after which she lets out a relieved sigh.

"Dance," she says back, as confirmation.

I slowly lead her over to where the others are then turn around to face her. Emily's so lovely in front of me. She's wearing that sweater I gave her again. I feel its infinitely soft sleeves circle me as she hooks her arms around my neck.

"Naoms?"

"Yes, Emily?" I say, my arms circling her waist.

"See the world with me, yeah?"

My hold on her loosens. Not on purpose though. It's just... Well, I can't promise her that much yet.

"There's a lot of the world to see, Em..."

"I know. But we can be together. Anywhere we want, Naomi. Be anywhere together. Be together anywhere," she says, like she's so fucking sure of it, making it sound like it's really going to happen and it's all going to be okay.

Is it? Is it going to be okay?

I let out a heavy breath. "Do you really want to be stuck with me for that long a time?" I say, trying to conceal my uncertainty with a joke.

She doesn't answer that. Instead, she clutches on to me harder, like I'm the only thing that's keeping her here. Emily commands my attention and I've never seen her brown eyes more wistful than they are now.

"Show me the world, Naomi Campbell," she pleads.

Something comes over me. Maybe it's what she said. But I'm trembling as I rush in closer to kiss her on the forehead. I press my lips against her deeply, giving it everything I got, hoping to fuck that she understands me now even though I don't even understand myself right now.

I break apart and her eyes look up into mine. She's watery and twinkling. She's a blur. I close my eyes. A _beautiful_ blur. It's then when I realise that my cheeks are wet. Oh, fuck. I'm crying. I'm fucking crying.

Me and the love of my life going round the world like it's no one's fucking business. That's such a perfect plan, isn't it? Yeah, it would be except for the fact that I'd have to turn down a couple of scholarships that I've worked all my teenage life for to go join the circus with Emily.

I mean, she's asking for a big thing. For us to take one, possibly even two gap years together. For me to put uni and hopes of a fucking career on hold.

She's basically asking for the rest of my life.

I sniff once, twice. The sadness silently running down my cheeks in steady streams.

Emily moves her hands to my face and she's tenderly wiping away my tears with the pads of her thumb. She sucks her lips in and I know she's trying her fucking hardest to keep from crying as well.

And I know she won't say anything because if she does, she'll croak it out in a way the both of us can't take. So I swoop in until our foreheads are touching. I'm going,

_Please don't read my mind. Please don't read my mind. You don't want to know how scared I am now_.

Looking into her eyes, I remember what I said to Freddie.

_But you do them anyway, because you love her._

I sniff once, twice. Then I clear my throat. Wait for my voice to find me.

"All right, Emily Fitch. I'm getting you out of here."

* * *

= = = ** **EFFY** ** = = =**  
**

This morning I woke up, took a shower and made myself some breakfast. While waiting on the kettle, I went to check the post and there on our doormat was a brown envelope.

My A-level results.

I picked the small stack up and I also found bills and two postcards (one from Dad, the other from Tony).

Dad asked how I am, how the house was... regular stuff. As always, he left the "How's your Mum holding up? Well, send her my best," for last.

Then the kettle sang and the toaster gave way.

My breakfast beckoned.

_

* * *

_

Hiya Eff,

_A-level Results Day, right? Right, cuz I've checked. So yeah, a big CONGRATS! to you. I know you've done splendid. You are, after all, my little Sis._

_Cardiff's still a bore but I know you'll love the Archaeology and Ancient History Programme. The Greeks and the Romans on a daily basis. You know, like when we were kids. Right cool, Eff. You can't go wrong._

_I could use some family here. Spice things up._

_I'll be back soon. In the meantime, look after Mum._

_All my love,_

_Tony_

* * *

I set Tony's postcard next to my plate of toast. Cardiff with Tony. I have to add that to the growing mental pile in my head designated as 'OPTIONS'.

I'm not the type who likes to control things, you know. At the most, I just give things a little push and hope they go somewhere nice but usually I just _let _things happen. I don't give a fuck about where I'm going to be in five years or whatever. I can tell, by the way that some people look at me, that they all think I've got so much inside of me... I'm not exactly sorry to disappoint, you know.

_You're a clever girl, Elizabeth. It's a shame, you'd do well in (insert something young, urban and professional-ish here)._

A fierce lack of ambition. That's what they call it.

What sets me apart from my brother.

That's why I'm lovely. But just not as lovely as Tony is.

I eat my toast and pretend he's here with me at the dining table. Dad's screaming his balls off while Mum is occasionally opening the refrigerator in an effort to ignore the ruckus.

And Tony says to me, "We've got to get our own lives, Eff. It's what they would've wanted." He points his fork at our parents and when I turn to try and look at Mum and Dad, they're gone. Then in a mild panic, I turn to Tony only to find out he's gone as well.

They're all gone.

My mobile comes to life. I seriously think Naomi's a wanker for making fun of my froggie ringing tone, you know. Anyway, it's Katie.

I answer it. "Katie."

It's noisy at the other end but I still hear Katie's "Bitch!" cutting clear over the country music.

"I hear my mixed CD in the background. How sweet of you," I say, remembering all the work I put into that Taylor Swift "tribute".

"This is the last time I will ever play this CD, also known as 'Effy Stonem's idea of a fucking laugh'. I'm proper annoyed right now, happy?"

"Feeling fantastic, Katie."

"Splendid. Now would you hold on a sec?"

She covers her mouthpiece but I still make out Katie ordering Emily to stop the player and then it goes quiet.

Katie gets back to me. "I'm not chucking it away though. I'm keeping it."

Somewhere in my chest, I'm a little less cold just hearing that from her.

"Of course you are. I made the fucking cover art."

"You did? No wonder it looks shit. No pictures or anything..."

"It's called _typography_," I say.

"Yeah, typography, whatever," she says dismissively. "Anyway, I've got to go somewhere. See you at Keith's later, yeah?"

"Can't wait to show us your grades?"

"Kind of. I think I've proven that I'm not a completely tasteless chav. You know, what you guys call a philistine?"

"Definitely not a philistine," I say back with a laugh, honestly proud of how much Katie has grown.

"I better not be. I'm like, using big words here," she says and we laugh some more until she goes, "Okay, I'm hanging up now. Gotta dash."

She hangs up and I'm alone again. I pick the scary, brown envelope up. It's funny how the stuff written outside, my name and my address, define me better than the stuff I'll find in the inside.

I tear the envelope open with shaky hands and I scold myself, _they're only fucking results._

I take a big breath. Pull out the sheet that determines my future.

* * *

Everyone's a little drunk when Katie finally walks in the pub. Katie appears to be a little down but it seems like I'm the only one who notices that. Cook and the others erupt into a bout of cheers seeing nothing wrong.

Freddie gets up and helps Katie out of her coat. They hook arms as Freddie accompanies her to a seat next to Cook and for the quickest of moments I feel this ambiguous jealousy. I don't know whose hair I wanted to pull off, Freddie's or Katie's.

Cook clumsily slams a pint in front of Katie with everything miraculously staying in its glass. "Drink up, Princess!" he tells her, his face red, crinkly and so obviously stoked.

JJ rises and clinks his glass repeatedly with Freddie's lighter. The _ting ting ting _gets them all to quiet down. Once he's satisfied, JJ downs the rest of his beer and he puffs his chest out self-importantly.

"Now that Katie's here and we're all fittingly boozed up, the Exam Results Party Planning Committee..."

Of which JJ is the only member.

"...have decreed that all our results be read out in quick succession. So, ready? I'll start."

I like it when he gets like that. Once you see past the annoying over-intellect he's actually rather cute.

"A-A-A!" he says and we all hoot our approval as JJ sits back down, blushing with a curved show of his braces, pleasantly embarrassed.

That's what I mean about 'over-intellect'.

Naomi shoots up next, looking really smug. And by that alone you can already tell...

"A! A! A!" she yells, holding her results sheet in front of everyone like a round girl. Naomi gets an impressed _whoa_ from us and wolf-whistles from the boys before we all join together to give her a hearty round of applause.

"Top, man! Fucking top!" Cook shouts, raising his glass to her and Naomi beams at him in return before she flops back into her chair blissfully to see her girlfriend's reaction. It's unsettling how Emily has this sad-happy thing going on which completely wipes the grin off Naomi's face.

What's that I see? Trouble in paradise?

Emily musters a big (but subtly strained) smile before she leans in to kiss Naomi on the cheek with a "Congrats, babe," before getting up herself to tell us her grades.

Naomi's hand sneaks its way into Emily and you can almost _feel _how strong that grip between them is.

This makes the redhead smirk but she's all modest anyway when she enlightens us with an, "A-A-B."

Everyone claps and howls wildly but no one can beat how ecstatic Naomi's being about it. Naomi's so happy she goes on banging the table with her free fist. Seems like she's forgotten about how she and Emily weren't seeing eye to eye just then.

Naomi suddenly gets up and captures Emily's lips with her own and now they're snogging there, breaking the "read in quick succession" rule right in front of JJ's face. He doesn't seem to be bothered by it though. With good reason too.

I mean... Lesbians.

And that's fucking hot.

Emily pulls away, breathless and looking like she well enjoyed that. She gives Naomi a playful shove in the chest. "What the fuck was that for?" she says, trying to sound cross but it does not (no, not _at all_) hide the fact that Naomi's just gotten her incredibly turned on.

Naomi shoots Emily a daredevil smile that could make all the ladies and gentlemen swoon with how handsomely beautiful it is. And she says to Emily, "I have no idea, really."

Oh, God. You're right smooth Campbell. Would you mind hitting on my dead Nan too?

"Right, Ems. She just jumped on you, didn't she?" Katie says jokingly at which Emily can only respond to with a timid bite of her lip. It is Katie's turn and the happy, gay couple stumble back into their seats, both caught in their own fucking giddiness or whatever.

Katie, in her animal prints and her pearls, goes "B-B-C!" and we turn it up a good deal of decibels again. Katie does a little curtsey before resuming her seat. She takes a sip of her beer and she catches my eye. Katie smiles her thanks and my heart swells because I did, in fact, help her get those results.

Thomas jumps up. His headphones are around his neck and he's doing this sort of funky dance. He _raps _about his results going, "A-B-C, baby!" and his three-second music video comes to a close. He and JJ high five each other before Panda attacks Thomas with a hug.

At long last, Panda lets go of Thomas and she faces the lot of us saying,

"C in Philosophy! Super A's in History and French!"

A quiet shock dawns over the table. Because no one's gotten an A Plus yet. And for Panda to rack up two... that's just... fucking great.

Panda stares back at us looking like she did us all a great wrong. "I did some exams without telling you guys. I'm sorry."

"No Panda, that's great! It's just that we're all... surprised. Yeah, that's it. Surprised," Emily supplies, speaking for all of us then adding a sincere, "We're very happy for you, Panda. Congratulations!"

"Oh, alright, good," Panda says, relieved somewhat. "You know, for a second there I thought you were all mad at me."

I get to Panda as quick as I can and circle my arms around her, squeeze her really hard. "Don't be silly, Panda Pops. You've done excellent and I can't be more proud of anyone in this room."

Panda tears up and I look at her feeling nothing but affection. My best friend is a genius.

And everyone else is still sitting there with a stunned look on display. A fresh pint reaches its way in front of Cook. He finishes it in one go and then his glass goes down with a dull _thud _after which he wipes his mouth with the sleeves of his jumper.

He's fucking disgusting, really.

Cook clears the table, just moves some bottles and glasses and chips aside and we all witness in drunken confusion as he climbs onto the table. He throws his arms out and screams from the top of his lungs, "I GOT EXPELLED!"

It's like Panda's news all over again. The same silence. The same collection of round eyes.

It goes on like that for a while before Cook hops down and says, "Just shitting with you lot." He steals Freddie's fag, takes a quick drag before reciting, "C-C-F!"

Panda starts laughing nervously and we join in because Cook is being the fun twat-fuck he is. Freddie wrestles for his fag back saying, "You bastard," with just a hint of fondness.

Cook turns to JJ. "Sorry, Jay. I'm just really shit at Maths," he says, giving JJ's hair a good ruffle.

JJ just shrugs Cook off and claps his hands at Freddie, barking "Quick succession! Quick succession!"

Freddie straightens up at this and suddenly his tall, lanky frame is towering over everyone. He has his hands shoved deep down the pockets of his shorts. With a cigarette between his lips he goes, "A-C-C," in that laid-back way of his.

And the way he does it, it's...

_Sexy_, I think before I can stop myself.

This is why they call him _The Lips_, I guess.

I find myself actually thankful for Cook's congratulatory wails. They drown out the sound of my other thoughts.

It's just that I really fucking hate admitting Freddie's irresistible.

"Eff?" Panda says and I realise that everyone else has read out their grades. I'm the only one who hasn't yet.

"A-A-B," I say dully but my friends are the type you can count on to go ballistic about it anyway.

Everyone's happy for everyone and it's almost too surreal because two years ago all we ever thought we'd be to each other was 'just this person in my form'.

We've gone a long way, me and them. And somewhere in between JJ's congratulatory speech and the appearance of a new round of drinks (compliments of Keith), I come to the conclusion that...

Fucking hell, I actually love these people.

* * *

As soon as I step out of the pub, I'm crushed by a heavy fall of rain and I immediately regret my decision of braving the storm.

But then I finally find her leopard-print parka and her strings of pearls, leaning against the brick wall. And there's something about it that's sad. So sad.

She notices me around. "Just thought I'd step outside a bit. Couldn't take the smoke anymore."

This would've been normal and okay and everything, being outside to get a breath of fresh air... but it's like she doesn't even notice that it's a fucking _monsoon_ out here.

"Katie?"

Katie won't look at me.

"Why the fuck are you here?"

I can't stop my teeth from chattering. It's too fucking cold.

"I can't have children," she says loudly, competing with the thunder and the crashing sound the rain makes as it hits the pavement, the roof, the window... everything.

"I can't have kids!" she shouts to the sky like she's furious at God. "I can't have kids... I can't have kids..." she keeps repeating, sinking heavily down the wall. She's collapsed into a sobbing heap on the pavement and I don't know what to fucking make of it.

I sit next to her and try not to mind how wet it's making my jeans. I draw Katie in my arms and let her cry against me because... Fuck it, she can't possibly make my jacket any wetter than it already is.

Water's pouring around us unforgivingly and I think this could do her some good, you know. Wash away some of the hurt.

So I hold onto her tighter in the rain and just hope it makes a difference.

* * *

Back inside, Keith takes one look at us and with a snap of his fingers a lady sets off and returns with some towels. Katie and I take them with grateful smiles and we walk over to a corner booth, planning to stay there until we dried up a bit.

Naomi and Emily are playing darts at one corner. They're laughing and having a pretty good time. Emily manages to hit the wall thrice in a row and Naomi looks like she's going to be doubled up laughing like that forever.

Katie's staring hard at Emily.

"It's funny, if she's ever going to have a baby... It's going to be so fucking hard because... Because that could've been me. And when I'm going to tuck that kid in one night, as fucking _Auntie Katie_... I'm going to look at that face and say to myself, 'You could've been mine,' and it's just so... fucking unfair because I've always wanted to be like mum. To _be _a mum! And with that gone, I don't fucking know what I'm supposed to be anymore..."

I don't know what to feel. Much less what to say. It's like somebody died in that booth with us.

Somebody that wasn't supposed to.

* * *

It turns out that Katie's significantly better at darts than Emily is and she can't get enough of it, rubbing it in Emily's face while Naomi stands back obviously amused by their sibling rivalry. Katie's considerably cheered up.

This is when I decide to make my way over to the bar. To get another drink... or something.

"So what are you doing sitting here? Looking for doilies?"

"No," Freddie replies. "Just looking," he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

There's this gleam in them (his, not mine) that gets this scene in my head. About Aphrodite coming down and beating the shit out of a boy's face. When it's over, the boy will get up and smile. He'll be bleeding honey and looking more divine than ever. In my head, that boy is Freddie.

What I hate about him (or maybe myself) is the silence. He doesn't fucking say anything but I know the words already. Sometimes there aren't any words. Just lots of... lots of conceptual things.

Strong, conceptual things.

I play with the draw strings of his hoodie, tempted to pull him closer with them. But I don't. I don't.

"Keep looking then," I say, before turning around and vanishing back into the normal world. Where people bleed right and red.

The world where Freddie doesn't have such a tight hold on my heart.

* * *

I'm now sharing a booth with Panda, Thomas, JJ and Cook. I had to have a smoke so I couldn't hang with Katie. That's why I'm here listening to JJ and Cook argue over Cook's big mathematical disappointment.

"So what if you've got three A's?" Cook says before taking a hit of his cigarette. "Doesn't mean you get to eat cunt for breakfast."

JJ looks colossally offended, comes up with _this_ as a defense. "Naomi got three A's. I bet she has three square meals of cunt every day!"

Cook's initially baffled at this because well, JJ _does _have a point.

"Yeah, well..." Cook starts, struggling for some proper retaliation.

Oh, I'd love to hear this...

"...that only applies to lesbians. Have you noticed, Jay? Lesbians get off on similarities, yeah? They both have tits—" he says, pausing to make groping motions at his chest. "Both have pussies. So naturally, my dear Jonah Jeremiah, both should have brains. Lezzers like their birds clever, Jay. Law of the world."

JJ is soaking up Cook's argument and he's goes all thoughtful about it. "So, are you saying, that if I try coming on to a lesbian, there's a 75 percent chance that she'd have sex with me?" he asks while Cook's busy gulping down another pint.

But then Cook raises his hand to JJ as if to say, "Wait, stop right there."

We all wait until he slams the empty glass down and Cook looks at JJ incredulously. "What? Because of your brilliant bonce?"

JJ nods with vigour.

Cook doesn't seem to think the same way. So he lets JJ down easy.

"Well, not exactly. But no harm in trying. You might wanna play that card sometime, Jay."

"Yeah," JJ agrees, his blue eyes looking lively and he looks braver since the last time he spoke. "Yeah, I should," he says again, with more conviction.

"Jay?" Cook says.

"Yes?" JJ says, distracted and all charged up at the same time.

"Not with Emilio though. Blondie's not gonna like that."

JJ stops looking at Emily and snaps his head back to us faster than anyone can say, "Naomi's going to fucking kill you."

It's nice of Cook. To care about them. Just comes to prove that no matter how much of an ass you can be there will always be this sacred goodness inside of you.

Cook spots another girl by the pool table sporting a cue stick. She's looks pretty bored about everything even as she's constantly knocking down all those difficult shots. Those table's pockets seem fucking hungry for those balls.

"What about her?" Cook proposes and without even looking at her JJ's all like, "No fucking way, not for a thousand Tic Tacs!" until the crowd parts and he finally sights the girl Cook's referring to.

The blonde hair and the pink hair extension. Spandau Ballet's "True" is spilling out of the jukebox.

JJ's face at this moment? Nothing less of lovestruck.

"Go on, don't be a pussy. Talk to her," Cook says, pushing JJ out of the booth with his foot. And JJ's up and fumbling with his hair self-consciously, making his way to her.

JJ starts chatting the girl up, magically conjuring up the cue ball from behind the girl's ear (I still wonder how the fuck he does that). All's going well for the most part. We're all silently praying for him to succeed and everything.

Have you ever come across Murphy's Law? You know... Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong? Yeah, that old adage.

Well, clearly Murphy knows his shit.

Suddenly, this guy who looks like Jim Carrey comes out of fucking nowhere and clocks JJ hard in the face. The next thing we know is that it's a whirl of fists and arms and Cook's just beating the wits out of this guy.

Me and the girls rush over to JJ while Freddie, Thomas and Naomi (yes, _the _Naomi fucking Campbell!) rush over to the brawl, clawing Cook and the other guy apart. It takes a while for them to pull Cook away and even then, he's still kicking and screaming but Naomi and Freddie have successfully dragged him away from causing any more carnage.

Cook's spotless. No sign of blood on his face. Except, of course, for his knuckles.

I can't say the same for Jim Carrey though. He's covered in red. Blood coming out his nose, his lip cut and... I have to look away. Because as of now, Cook's made it a face only a mother would love.

Thomas is kneeling over the guy, checking his pulse and everything. The blonde girl falls to the floor and wipes some of the blood away with a handkerchief. "For fuck's sake, Liam!" she says through her sniveling, "look what they've done to you!"

All the people in the bar look rattled. The older customers start glaring at us and we're all painfully aware of how quiet it is. The adrenalin's died down and now my heartbeat's not loud and frantic enough to mask the sound of police sirens outside.

"Fucking hell!" Keith hollers, purely outraged. "Who the fuck called Scotland Yard?"

****

**

* * *

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**A/N:** First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading up to this point! It means so much to me that you've read all nine chapters (and friend, you deserve applause because this is story has like... a lot of words) despite the time in between updates. I never thought that this one-shot would turn into something more. I have you guys to thank for that, you helped this baby grow. I love you so much (in a totally "I don't know you but hey, common interests!" sort of way)! So yeah, spread the love on this sandwich, mate. For the willing, criticise/review if you will. ;)

For the interested: I know I'm being like a total loser for doing this (promoting my twitter page like a desperate hooker on the streets), but if some of you guys want to get live feed on how the last chap is going, you can check there. And also if you want to know about the wild and not-so-wild shit I'm up to. Haha! The link's on my profile page, so there... you know where to find me, bbs.

**NEXT:** The LAST CHAPTER! And that's all I'm giving away, friends ;)

I need all the magic I can get so wish me luck, loves! Until the last chapter!


	10. Chapter 10: We're On a Sinking Ship

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**: This has been way overdue, I know. There's no excuse as to why this got delayed to post. But that was the time that needed to pass to make this story as real as it could possibly be. I hope you guys understand that things like this take time.

I'm giving you lot two parts for Chapter 10 to compensate for the postponement. I'll post the last installment on Christmas Day. Because Santa put you all on the Nice List this year. God knows you deserve extra treats. ;)

Special shout-outs go to **flister**, who helped me get most of my ideas together. **Flis**, I adore you like Florentino Ariza loves Fermina Daza. And then to my twitter friends! To **vangoghgurrl**, who's the reason why this chapter's finally up (thank you so much for the pressure, bb) and to **FrineItandehui**, who told me what a DUFF was. XD

And to everyone else who's read this through thick and thin, thanks so much. Without further ado, the first part of the last installment!

**EXPECT: **Naomi getting FIT and FITCHED. The gang's dressing up whereas Cook's cooped up. Party at Freddie's Shed! Birthday boy's to be in a birthday suit (but it's not what you think!), getting birthday cakes from a couple in a Cold War. Any guesses on which duo that might be? Join the gang as they encounter a Sexxbomb, the art crowd, a ten-year-old's idea of fun and their most formidable opponent yet...crazy parents.

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

_**by interpol..ice**_

**Chapter 10, Part 1: We're on a Sinking Ship (We're Escaping It)**

* * *

= = = ** **NAOMI **** = = =

I've got this alarm clock. It's a plastic panda wearing the basic colours. Yellow shirt, blue jumper, then the tacky red bow tie. Black ears, black circles round its eyes. The clock on its tummy.

I actually got this from Panda (yes, I couldn't have guessed it either). Christmas 2009.

What's rather stupid about it is that it has no hand that ticks by the second. So primitive, that I would've been better off with a fucking pendulum. But really now. Look at it. It's adorable. Why else would it still be on my bedside table?

Emily calls it 'Mister Panda' and when you actually wake up to it every day, greeted by its cheesy open-mouthed smile, it's kind of fucking awesome.

Now, I just got up with that all familiar morning sickness you get from a night of major acetaldehyde intoxication and the first thing I do (after checking my mobile, texting Emily: _good morning_ and Freddie: _your welcome_... because I stayed up 'til midnight to greet him a happy birthday) is check the time on Mister Panda.

Just stare at it. Blankly. In a way that you don't see familiar things anymore with your eyes because you actually start looking at those things with your memory. If I close my eyes Mister Panda will still be black and white. He'll still be in yellow, blue and red.

When I open them he doesn't turn purple or pink or whatever. He doesn't pull shit like getting a new hat or a tattoo or anything and it's great, you know. How you can count on some things to stay the same.

And it feels like days have passed as I lie there doing absolutely nothing, thinking a thousand thoughts per second. When I do tell the time though, I find out that only three minutes have passed.

Funny how time fucks with you like this on some occasions. As the saying goes, it flies by when you're having the time of your life. And then it can't fly fast enough when you're almost dying of torture or its less painful cousin, boredom.

_Time dilation: how clocks appear to be ticking slower when you're in motion._

How Cook managed to land six punches on Liam Picton in under two seconds. Cook plays football. He got in eleven kicks before I could count to five.

_Length contraction: how objects appear to be shorter the faster they move._

How it was so fucking hard to grab a hold of Cook. A shoulder was there one moment and the next, it just wasn't. The same thing went for his arm, his fists. Until Freddie and I decided (on desperation) to pull him away by his jacket.

Einstein's theories of relativity, yeah? Bending my reality that day. All applicable to the disaster two weeks ago that's now morosely called "that weekend".

What I remember most about it was how the panic made everything feel like we've been at it for hours. Keith says the brawl and the keeping the two wankers off of each other lasted five minutes tops.

It all happened so fast. I'm not joking here or anything when I say that it all felt like it happened yesterday. I've still got vivid images of Cook smashing this guy's face out of recognition. It's kind of fucking impossible to forget things like that so here I am, thinking about it, reliving it in my head ever since.

The police came in and we shouldn't have been so surprised that they were going to come but lo and behold, there they were anyway. They dragged Cook away and got him in a police car. That police car then took him to the centre.

They banged him up (not literally though, just a fancy way of saying they got him in a cell) and we haven't heard from him until three days later. And the news didn't come from Cook himself, it was Freddie and JJ who relayed everything to the rest of us.

So Cook had a legal brief. A lawyer and the works. Standard procedure for the detained.

But Cook... He was sort of unlucky. Unlucky in the sense that he got a defense attorney who had a sparkling record of a hundred percent conviction rate. Mr. Duncan Moss, at your service.

So you can pretty much say my dear boy was shitted.

There were about forty witnesses in the pub that night and about thirty swearing that Cook hammered the guy so hard that they were all willing to testify against him.

It was kind of thoughtless for Cook really. To still plead "not guilty" even though he obviously did that bloke in. He got off easy, though. The judge called for an electronic tagging order. A month of being confined in his mum's mansion of sorts.

When you compare it to prison, house arrest doesn't seem so bad.

* * *

I've never gone grocery shopping with Emily before. You know, like together.

Emily leads the way, scouring the aisles like she knows them by heart. Knows where everything is, just so wicked fast and efficient. I'm having a rough time trying to keep up with her, seeing as I'm pushing a cart whose wheels could use a little oiling.

It's eight minutes of whipping through aisles, only stopping so Emily can load the cart with various baking items. Chocolate in all sorts of forms and sweetness. A bag of flour. Cartons of buttermilk and heavy cream.

Emily leans over the metal cage, checks to see if she's missed anything. "Okay, we're almost through." And with a final sweep of her eyes she says, "C'mon, Naomi."

Emily steps forward with a hand pulling at the front of the cart. She takes us to the biscuits section and I slowly get weak. Not a sick kind of weak, more of a swelled heart in a chest about to explode and butterflies in the stomach. That kind of deal, you know. All because of this, Act 1: Emily and the Garibaldis.

It's fucking cute. She can easily reach it without standing on her tiptoes (she's tall enough, really) but there she is, doing it anyway.

I was nineteen a second ago. Now I'm twelve and falling in love all over again.

Emily turns to face me and the look I'm giving her is probably sends her into a pool of self-consciousness. "What?"

She chews on her bottom lip and she's being too sexy and cute that I can't be held responsible for melting inside.

"Nothing," I say, my grip on the cart's handlebars tightening and flicking forward and back, like I'm revving it up. "It's just that I can't believe how much we've grown."

* * *

We take a taxi back to theirs. It's cosy in the back seat with a paper bag propped against me on one side and Emily on the other. I circle her with an arm, keeping her head snug on my shoulder. The sun fights through the window tint, making things warmer than they already are.

Emily and I stay like that, hypnotised by the way our fingers are restless against each other's, our fingerprints kissing, locked in a sensual haze. Like waves building up from opposite seas, weaving into each other for the very first time.

And we almost forget that the taxi's pulled in to their street and I groan playfully as she draws away from me to straighten herself out.

"Yeah, right there. Number 11," Emily tells the driver and he a second after he's stopping in front of her house. Emily turns to me with this look that says she knows that it's up to here for me.

Before getting out, she kisses my cheek goodbye.

Emily's already on the pavement, turning around to hold her arms out for the bag. I've got it on my lap and it's heavier than it looks and realise that I have an opportunity here. I don't want to pass up this chance to be gallant and shit.

I hurriedly lurch forward to tell the driver to wait here a bit and I clamber out awkwardly to join a surprised-looking Emily.

"Tell you what, I'll walk you to your door," I declare proudly. And if I weren't hugging this bag to my chest I would've taken her hand ages ago.

Emily's eyes flutter and she bites her lip again, her pink cheeks betraying her already. It still gets me every time she goes all shy like that. And when she cocks her head to the side with a slight smile that's all 'Shall we, then?' it feels like I've won something.

She starts walking and I pad along with her all the way to their door, fuelled up on courage inside of me I never even knew I had.

"Wow. You've made it to our doormat. Does this mean you're ready to have dinner with my parents now?" she teases.

My narrowed eyes tell her all she needs to know.

Emily grins anyway. And all of a sudden she's taller than I remembered. And then it's her on her tiptoes. A second after, it's her lips on mine.

I can hear the paper bag between us crinkling as we kiss.

"Pick me up later, yeah? Don't be late," she says with the breath she gets after releasing my lips.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I say, still drunk on her magic.

"Go on," she says taking the groceries from my arms. The metre's running," Then she does this cute thing where she points to the taxi with puckered lips.

I step back a little, get a proper look at her. She's wearing a 'barely there' skirt above lavender tights. Hair topped off by a plaid bow that matches her plaid blouse. So fucking gorgeous.

"Bye, hot stuff," I say, fixing her fringe a little.

Her eyes close at my touch. "Arse-licker," she says and she's smiling that smile that makes the rest of her glow. She looks so happy right now. And I could die at this exact moment because I know I can get her like this.

* * *

I feel a bit ridiculous when I come back to the Fitches earlier than expected. And I've spent quite a while standing there, in an outfit that I've deliberated on a good three hours: a TopShop fuchsia pink tea dress underneath my trusty vintage beaded cashmere cardi. I've put on the right amount of make-up and I even did my hair and everything. My attempts at dressing to the nines.

Not wanting to be a complete cissy princess, I chose to wear punk boots tonight. And thank fuck my 8-hole Doc Marten 1460's make me feel an appropriate amount of tough.

Mum wouldn't stop saying shit about how pretty I was and it was embarrassing because Keiran was there and we both had to endure Mum's comments about my 'apparent womanhood' or fucking whatever that I had to get out there as soon as fucking possible.

Now I realise that it was only right for her to have given me praise.

I mean...

I _did _make a proper effort for this, if I may say so myself. I wanted to look extra nice for this party because... well, I'm pretty sure it's going to be the last one I'm going to have with my mates from college.

And there's just something about it that gives me the feeling that it's going to be a good night.

Right fucking eventful, yeah?

"Why, hello!"

Might as well scare my own fucking ghost out of my body. It's that distinct Liverpool accent and if you could give any bloke's voice a testosterone injection he'd end up sounding like Rob Fitch. I fucking swear. I was too lost in my thoughts to notice their garage door opening. I turn to my side and there he is, in a tracksuit and trainers.

I'm still a good deal apart from him so I let out a deep sigh while I still have the chance. I like Rob... it's just that I've tried avoiding him ever since Emily told me that he always gave Katie's boyfriends something to 'look forward to' if they ever crossed the line.

So since I apparently lack ninja skills and there's no way of escaping him now, I'm pretty sure that tonight's going to be the night that Rob Fitch gives me that death sentence.

"Don't just stand there, dear. Come in, come in," he beckons before walking back into the garage.

Is that supposed to be an invitation or something? Seriously now?

"Kid, you know it's chilly out there. In you go," he calls from inside.

Okay. So he _is _serious.

With sheer will and determination I manage to drag my lead-heavy self into the garage. Rob's wiping his hands with a towel when I stand before him. He's so huge in person and I thank God that he didn't pass his genes of massive-osity to the twins.

My paranoia grows when he swings the towel around his neck. This means his hands are free and he can now ball them into fists to hit me with. I know it's kind of ridiculous for me to be thinking this but Rob Fitch is more than a little intimidating. Emily's father might as well be Mike Tyson for fuck's sake.

He scans me from head to toe and he's back to my head again, looking at me with scarily bright eyes and I'm feeling sorry for myself because all my neurotransmitters are having a fucking panic attack or something.

"Emily's still getting ready," Rob says with that permanent Cheshire smile of his that gives one the impression that the nitrous oxide administered to him one dentist appointment long ago has done him irrevocable damage.

This is what's weird about Rob. You can't really tell if he likes you or not because he smiles like that at everyone and for all I know he really fucking hates my guts even though Emily assures me occasionally that "he doesn't and if you must know, he actually thinks you're sweet."

It sounds more than I could ever bargain for so I'm not totally buying that yet. No, not when Rob is wearing his too-happy psycho poker face that I just have to get used to because I need to get on with her family.

To my relief he rests his hands on his hips. There I hope they'll stay. But it really hasn't helped because he's increased his authoritative vibe and now I'm back to freaking out again.

"She said you'd come around by six," he says with a "why are you early?" undertone.

"Oh, well. You know me," I say trying my fucking hardest to not be so high-pitched. I'm fucking _fake-fanning _myself, giggling nervously going, "I can get awfully excited about... your daughter."

Rob's eyes widen and I immediately deduce that I've just said the wrong thing.

What the fuck? What was that shit you just came up with, Campbell? _Excited about your daughter_? Great... You're just great at making a horny twat of yourself in front of her dad now, aren't you?

Oh, fuck this. I was never good with dads. It could've helped me if mine stayed with me but no. He just fancied fucking off and now that bastard's still out there, probably fathering more lesbians.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I mean, I couldn't wait to see her, sir."

In fact, at this very moment I'm willing so hard for her to materialise already and save me from this torture.

Rob's face softens. "Sure, you can't," he says in what I like to believe is a humourous tone.

"My Emsy," he goes, affectionately. "She's my special little soldier, that one. Lovely, lovely girl."

The way he says it. It's priceless. Emily's always said she liked her dad better. Now I know why.

"I couldn't agree more, Sir."

"Please don't call me Sir," he answers promptly.

"Mr. Fitch?" I try.

And then he starts laughing at me.

"Really, Naomi, love," he says, shaking his head and laying an oddly comforting hand on my shoulder. "If you want to win me over you better start calling me Rob."

"Okay, then... Rob," I say, giving it a go.

His face then shines of approval and I feel like I'm actually scoring some points here. And Campbell's back in the game!

Rob lets go of my shoulder and resumes back to packing some things into boxes. Their garage is full of all sorts of shit and this tiny, cramped space is a china shop and I feel like a fucking bull.

"Just clearing some stuff out," he says while wrapping some old teacups with newspaper and then stacking the carefully wrapped china into a box labelled 'Fragile'. Then he steps over to the shelves to get a rackety old toaster. "Probably hand this in to Oxfam or something."

Usually, I'd have so much more to say about Oxfam. Enough to be able to go on a long-winded discussion about it, mind you. I'm all about fighting poverty and injustice and Oxfam fits the bill. Get me pissed on a good night _then_ I'll talk.

But as of now, the only thing I can come up with is this:

"Yeah, Oxfam sounds... great."

And then Rob looks at me like I caught a bug or something and I decide from then on that I'll have to excruciatingly go over my answers in my head before I actually voice them out.

I maintain my silence a good two minutes, just nodding my head politely at everything he says, thinking, "thank fuck he won't shut up."

That is, until he asks...

"So... You're taking my little champion to Mexico, eh?"

The question makes my ears ring. "She told you that?" I croak awkwardly before clearing my throat.

Rob stops fidgeting with a broken coffeemaker to give me his full attention as he nods. "She's right excited about it too. Nothing has put that smile off her face in days."

I try my best to not look so smug about it so I manage to tame my big, goofy grin into a more polite smile. "Yeah, I am," I say softly, looking him in the eye. I think he can hear the pride in my voice.

We stare at each other for a bit. And I don't know what to fucking do or say. Does he want to know more? I don't want him to know that I plan on making love to his daughter every time a Mexican tries to cross the border. Because that's _a lot _of times, you know what I'm saying?

"Right," Rob goes, getting back to his work and for a second there I thought I was off the hook. But then, of course, he's a fucking _father_ so he drops the coffeemaker back onto the shelf hastily and turns to me with a fucking purpose.

He takes in a deep breath, like he doesn't want to be doing this to me. I feel sorry for him a little. This is the obligatory 'father-must-scare-daughter's-boyfriend-(in this case, _girlfriend_)-into-a-very-nice-state-of-shitless' and God knows how hard that must be on any bloke.

"Okay, Naomi," he starts strictly. "Don't think you've got it easy because you're a lady and all that, but if anything happens to my girl... You get the drill, kid?"

I gulp audibly. "You'll hunt me down like a dog?" I say, trying for humour but my quavering voice just makes me sound like a terrified mouse.

Rob presses his lips together, and for a second there, I can almost see Emily in him. And he nods sympathetically.

Then he stares me down with frenzied eyes, completing his mission.

"That all, Mr. Fi—umm... Rob?" I ask quietly.

It's almost kind of amazing, you know. How his face transforms from being ultra-cross to being warm again.

"I've gotta say, you look beautiful tonight, Naomi. I like what you did with your hair," he says in earnest. He's making wavy motions around his head and now I'm liking Rob more than I thought was possible and oh, _fuck _he's making me blush.

I look away shyly and mutter my thanks. Rob's actually kind of lovely, you know.

"All right then," he says, clapping his hands together energetically. "Sorry to have kept you. Emily's probably in the kitchen. You know her, she makes a right fuss about her cakes."

I break into a snigger. "Tell me about it. She wouldn't even let me help her bake it. Scared I'll add too much flour or something."

"I did that once. She didn't talk to me for three days," Rob says, pensive.

And then we share a little laugh. And I never imagined that I would ever have this kind of fun with any of Emily's parents.

The chuckling dies down and then I finally manage to say, "I should get going," with a regret that surprises even myself.

"Yeah, you should... Oh, and Naomi?"

I turn around and give him my utmost concentration.

"You bring her back home in one piece, all right?"

There's something about the way he says it that makes me think that he doesn't only mean tonight. That makes me think he means Mexico even more.

* * *

I come across Katie as she's speeding down the stairs.

She hits the bottom step and she stays there. It gives her a little height boost so now we're more or less level (seeing as I'm not a munchkin), putting her in a favourable position to inspect me.

"You look...nice," she notes, like she feels as if admitting it makes her a lesser person. That's Katie for you. And that's what makes me appreciate the comment even more.

"Thanks. You look 'nice' as well," I say with a smirk that Katie just obligingly rolls her eyes at. "Just had a chat with your dad," I add, following Katie into their living room where she checks herself out in the big mirror across the TV.

She's got her hair in a tamed bun and she looks more mature than I've ever seen her. Like you can mistake her for someone's mum or something. And Katie still has her eyes on her reflection as she says to me, "Did he say he'd hunt you down like a dog?"

I laugh. Katie seems to be very experienced with this, you know, on account of her never _not_ having a boyfriend since she was seven. I reckon that's ten years of Rob giving the same speech over and over again.

"He did. But he was actually pretty nice about it," I say with a smug smile that Katie catches in the mirror.

"Alright," she says, turning around to face me with her hands on her hips. "He'll go golden retriever on your arse, then. Consider yourself extremely lucky."

Katie looks me up and down but the way she does it is just the right amount of concern and critical that I'm not offended by it at all. She comes closer and picks a piece of lint on my off my cardigan.

We stare at that bit of lint floating between us for a while. Down, down, down it goes. Until it hits the carpet. Then I lift my eyes back up to Katie. I find her with a ghost of a grin on her lips.

"Don't look so fucking worried, Campbell," she says, slapping me playfully on the arm. "We'll work on getting Mum around."

Am I hearing right? Did Katie just offer me her assistance? No way...

"You're shitting me, right?"

Katie shakes her head in this sad, mock-sympathy kind of way. "Afraid not, babe."

Wow. She's not joking. Fucking hell.

"So does this mean you like me now?" I say suggestively. I bat my eyes for effect.

"I guess..." she says. Then she thinks about it a little more and finally figures out what context I meant and now she's got that _oh_ expression of clarity on her face.

"Not in a lezza way though!" she says hotly. "So don't get any fucking ideas."

* * *

"That's quite a heavenly-looking cake," I say into her red hair after I came up from behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist.

Her hands still and she sighs happily. She places a lid over the cake box in one delicate motion before tilting her head back into me. I nuzzle myself into the column of her sweet-scented neck.

"So you're going to carry that if you want me to add your name on the gift card," she says, going over the plan again. I love how she likes getting trivial things like this absolutely perfect.

"Is this how couples do gifts?" I mumble into her jaw and she hums at the feeling.

"Yeah, it works like that. I make the cake. You make sure Cook doesn't eat it."

On a normal day this would've been funny. But Cook isn't going to be at Freddie's later. Emily realizes this a little too late and the immediate drop of her mood indicates her guilt.

She parts from my relenting hold and grabs the roll of blue ribbon off the counter.

Emily has a conscience. It's one of the things I admire about her. How she honestly cares for other people. How she hates hurting anyone. But she didn't mean it like that and it was only a joke. So it's my job to make her feel better.

I move forward and stand by her side in front of their kitchen marble. I watch as she pulls out a lengthy strip of sapphire. My hand is already around a pair of scissors before her fingers can even stretch for it.

I snap the scissors open, blades at the ready and Emily, taking advantage of my assistance, holds up the ribbon with two hands in between the area I'm supposed to cut.

_Snip_.

Now, that wasn't so hard.

"Oh, the perils I have to go through to get my name on the gift card," I say dramatically, brandishing my lethal pair of scissors like a bevvied medieval bastard.

Emily catches fire slowly. It takes a while but she laughs in spite of herself, shaking her head at me as she hands over the cake.

I take it but put it back onto the counter. She's confused at first but then I take her hands and slowly turn her until we're full-frontal. It's the first time she's _really_ looked at me tonight.

Oh, Christ... She's looking at me in this way I think I can't possibly ever deserve.

"Naomi, you're..." she starts, voice so awe-struck.

I cut her off with a kiss.

"As are you, babe," I say breathlessly, after I pull away.

I step back to take the sight of her in. Oh, fuck. She's gorgeous in this silky, pink party dress she's wearing over her favourite black tee. The dress covers most of the shirt's design but I know that it's the one that has letters encased in hearts that spell:

**W E**

**W I L L**

**L A S T**

Her hair smells of her coconut shampoo (the one she uses for special occasions) and here it is before me, looking so soft, lustrous and touchable.

"Jinx," I call, moving my head from side to side, showing off my waves.

She doesn't laugh, really concentrated on pulling me over to her with smouldering eyes. I go closer, ever so closer, until I can feel her exhaled air landing wonderfully warm on my skin. And just like that, we're kissing again.

I'm too caught up in Emily to give a fuck about anything else. A moment ago you could still call us 'decent'. Now we're pretty much ruining each other's lipstick. But before we try anything more daring we hear the sound of a throat being cleared.

My head whips to the source and just as my dread predicts there, at the doorway stands Jenna Fitch. This is all my worst nightmares rolled into one. I need not say more.

Emily and I break apart and pretend that we weren't just snogging in the kitchen. And you can pretty much figure out that this plan of nonchalance is rather fucking useless at this point.

"Why, if it isn't Naomi," Jenna says in that God-awful Scottish accent of hers that I sometimes hear when I'm about to go to sleep at night.

"Mum," Emily says as a warning. She hates it when Jenna sticks her nose in our business.

"Hello, Mrs. Fitch," I say, willing myself to keep my shit together.

Jenna gives me a predatory top-to-bottom sweep of her eyes. Emily hurries as she wraps the blue ribbon around the cake box. She shares my sentiments, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible.

Shit. This is just fucking great now, isn't it?

Jenna crosses her arms. "The girls tell me you got 3 A's."

"Excuse me?" I say. I heard what she said, but I just don't understand why Jenna's bringing this up in the first place.

"Katie also says you've got a place at Oxford," she continues, so fucking malicious about everything. "On a scholarship."

It's true, I do. Keiran pushed me to apply for that new Margaret Thatcher scholarship at Somerville. I figured, 'fuck it, what the hell' so I wrote some essays, sat some interviews, got myself some decent grades. But I never counted on being one of the ten grantees so I didn't find it worth mentioning. Not even to Emily.

I don't know how Katie came upon this information though. I haven't told anyone that I got it.

Anyone except...

Effy. I've only told Effy.

Then Emily turns to me with this 'fucking explain yourself' expression, eyes shaded with a quiet rage.

And Jenna, she's got this plastic smile on that's so awful I'd be so happy if I shot myself to be rid of it. I don't know what Jenna's playing at but if it's her intention to get Emily mad at me then she's doing fucking swell.

"You must be terribly excited. Oxford in the fall, hmmm?" Jenna asks me and just... FUCK HER, you know? She has no business prying into my life like this.

"Mum," Emily says angrily, banging a fist to the counter. "I told you, we're going travelling this year."

Jenna turns to her daughter. Looks at Emily as if she's sorry for her. This whole exchange makes my fucking blood simmer.

"Emily, Are you even sure that's what Naomi wants?"

It's kind of alarming. The question catches Emily completely off-guard. Her posture's recoiled. Eyes wide. Jaw clenched.

Something in me snaps, seeing her like this.

Then both of them turn to me expectantly. Here I am again. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Fucked either way.

I hate how Jenna of all fucking people has to be the one who spotted this loophole, this chink in my armour.

Fucking bollocks.

I can't lie... and I don't exactly have a truth to tell.

Sorry for being anti-climactic but I don't have any answers to that at the moment.

I can't face Emily. I know that I've just broken her heart in some way. I know her enough to know I've hurt her just now.

She won't show it to Jenna though. Jenna who's looking more satisfied by the second for successfully driving me into a very tight corner.

Emily won't give her mother the satisfaction. "We're leaving," Emily says, picking the box up off the counter with this finality. She storms out without another word leaving me all alone with Jenna.

Jenna and her twisted lips.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Fitch," I say, aiming for polite but missing it by a fucking mile. I suddenly feel sick. Like my stomach spliced open and now I had all my guts pouring out.

I get out of there, chasing after Emily's wake.

* * *

Emily and I don't speak all the way to Freddie's. I don't feel like I look. I don't feel good.

So it's Katie's endless chatter, filling up the taxi for most of the part. Now I know she hates CSI (because she finds it very hard to understand, apparently) and that she took forever to adjust her bra straps just right ("else my tits would've looked uneven. Imagine lopsided tits… fucking awful, that").

When we get there, entering Freddie's almighty shed of skater memorabilia, party décor all around, the mood lightens up considerably. JJ, Freddie and his older sister, Karen are gathered around a little cargo crate playing Ace of Truth. I take a second longer while looking at Karen. Apart from that Johnny White party at the _Thekla_,I've never bumped into Freddie's sister ever again. And I'm sort of embarrassed to say that I almost forgot what she looks like.

As she's sitting there with the boys, she's got a pink feather boa that's draped around her neck. It would've been ridiculously out of place if it weren't for her white and pink dress combination. Besides her overly feminine and showy style, she's actually very gorgeous.

Just like Freddie. He's as fit as they come but we don't tell him that. Because, really. That would be _weird_.

Pandora and Effy are settled on the couch, taking turns poking each other's face with noisy, unrolled party blowers stuck to their mouths. Thomas is at one corner, working with some sound equipment that he probably got to borrow from the club he works at.

Freddie bounds up to us rubbing his hands together excitedly. He opens his arms wide, inviting the twins for a hug. It's cute, really. Because he's so big and they're so small. He releases them and he motions around. "Welcome to my shed," he says, this place his pride and fucking joy.

I hand over his cake, say a quick, "Happy birthday!" and he fucking beams like it's Christmas times five.

"Emily made this," I say.

"I know," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Freddie opens the box, revealing its chocolate glory to the world, and goes, "Fucking fantastic, Ems! Thanks!"

He gives Emily a grateful look before bounding over to the table where all the food is and places the cake there.

I turn to Emily. I say to her, in a very accusatory tone, "I thought this was a couple gift?"

"It is," Emily says, casually. "You weren't supposed to say I made it."

"But _you did_," I say plainly.

"_We_ made it. I thought that was the lie we agreed on? That we made this together?"

Together, Naomi. That's what you and Emily are. Please get that in your fucking head.

"Oh... Right," I say in all its hopelessness.

And it isn't enough for Emily. No, not right now.

She walks away, goes to where Katie is, by the punch bowl. And I feel like I was a second too late from stopping the world from ending.

* * *

It's a fucking surprise, really. When Thomas finishes setting up and provides us with surround sound, Freddie and Karen immediately break into a K-Pop inspired dance number. I don't know what Freddie did but he was obviously blackmailed into doing this. Knowing Freddie, he'd never jump into a tight-fitting dress suit (complete with a fucking _fedora_) to bust a move to some Korean boy band song he didn't understand a word of.

It would've been fucking hilarious, you know. How horrible Freddie looks as he messes up the dance steps that Karen's contrastingly executing with all the energy of Michael Jackson and the eerie precision of a drill team.

It would've been fucking hilarious if Emily wasn't fucking mad at me. We're seated next to each other on the couch, watching the McClair sibling display, and it's like there's this fucking wall between us that doesn't let her see me.

We're touching.

Our arms. Our shoulders. The fabrics of our skirts. They're all touching

I _feel_ us touching. But it's as if Emily doesn't.

So I will myself to concentrate harder on how Freddie's failing at shaking his fucking _bon-bon_. I will myself to think it the funniest fucking thing to ever grace the earth.

I'm fucked, really. I can't even fake a laugh.

So I move onto Karen. And yeah, she's fit as _fuck_ with her skin wet with perspiration, her exposed areas commanding everyone's attention, her hair whipping around like a proper whore. The tone of her arms, of her stomach...

Wish she were smaller though. Wish her face was softer.

Her skin, paler.

Her voice, lower.

Her hair, red.

I'm fucked, really. I can't even fake liking someone else.

So I go back to how idiotic Freddie is, forgetting Karen easily.

Wish I could do the same with Emily, though. Wish I could forget her. Even for a while.

Fat chance, that.

* * *

An hour later Freddie has already opened all his presents, everyone has got to taste and praise Emily's (our) cake and the party's basically peaked early.

Everyone is already in some level of 'pissed' or 'buzzed' or 'brooding' or a combination of the three. Emily and I still aren't speaking. Katie, Effy and Panda are off on one corner fooling around and making what Panda calls _Le Whizzer Musique Magnifique._

I'm dead serious, you know. She really fucking said that.

It's a mystery how, but Panda's managed to bring in some of those native instruments from her Interpretative Dancing class. She's more than happy to make Katie bang on a xylophone-looking contraption and Effy shake a maraca all while she's pressing keys to this weird Japanese techy synthesizer thing.

Karen and Emily are having an animated chat about fuck knows what near the snack table and I find myself having to block out the sound of Emily's merry bursts of laughter every now and then. Karen seems to really fascinate her.

You know, all that shit I said about Karen's hot body? I'd like to take that all back now.

I've been openly staring at them a while now. I'm here with the boys at Thomas' fortress of sound. Freddie and JJ are dropping song requests in a 'top of the head' fashion and they're being such twats, unable to decide on the songs that Thomas ignores them mostly.

Being stuck with them is better than being obviously moping and alone while my girlfriend's there, being chatted up by a Sexxbomb. There! She's doing it again! Laughing at Karen's cleverness or whatever.

This is fucking torture. She won't even look at me!

"Cook likes that song," JJ says, hosing down my jealous streak by the mere mention of Cook's name.

"Right, 'Ace of Spades'. Really got him in the fucking mood," Freddie says quietly, mostly to himself.

I get back to Emily and Karen. Karen's whispering something to her and Emily gets this really cheeky look on her face and my hands instinctively ball up. I seriously consider going over there to show Karen a piece of my mind... or like, you know, a piece of my fist.

What I wasn't expecting is Freddie and JJ busting into a serious sing-along. It steals everyone else's attention because they're doing air guitars and some really ridiculous head banging. Some point along the dork dance, JJ manages to get his shoe tangled in a web of cable and one swift jerk of his foot unplugs the power and puts the music to an abrupt halt.

Then Freddie speaks up, breaking the awkward silence and ironically making it more awkward. "It's my fucking birthday. I want to see my best mate."

Wait, he's not serious, is he? It's not like we're going to actually leave this party to go visit Cook. No way in bollocks that's going to happen.

But when Effy takes out her keys, she's already single-handedly sealed all our fates.

* * *

With Freddie's directions and Effy's immaculate driving, we reach Cook's mum's house in record time. We get there and find out his mum, Ruth Byatt, has an art exhibit here at her own residence tonight and that explains the packed parking lot. Effy had to drive out again and find a parking space somewhere along the main road which makes all of us regret why we didn't just get off in front of Cook's because now we have to walk through a bit of forest to get there again.

"Remind me why we're walking," Katie goes, obviously not pleased with this because she's in sexy but painful heels.

"Because. You lot didn't have enough sense to have gotten out the car while you could. I could have just parked it myself," Effy says in this 'you're all morons' tone.

"Then why didn't you?" Katie asks, annoyed and then some.

Effy puts on a faint smile, the moon's gracious enough to let me see it. "Because if I did, you all would have been sipping on fucking daiquiris while I get stuck in these woods alone, playing Alice in fucking Wonderland. Yeah, it's not my cup of tea."

And that shuts Katie up quite effectively.

"Okay," JJ begins, putting his fists on his hips, packing up on authority. "Full steam ahead, just keep north."

"How are you even sure we we're supposed to go north?" I say, my skepticism earning a glare from Emily.

Of course JJ's got an answer. He's always got a bookish load of crap as defense. "I'm pretty certain since I've checked all the coordinates and my phone's GPS says—"

"JJ?" Freddie starts, walking way ahead of everyone, knowing these woods better than anyone else possibly.

"Yes, Freddie?"

"Shut it."

So for the next three minutes or so, we follow Freddie as he makes his way forward, dodging trees and low-hung braches. It's dark. That much I know. My eyesight becomes less keen so I put more focus on the things I'm hearing.

Listening. Listening because I might as well be blind right now. It's too fucking dark in here.

Emily's not by my side. She's with JJ up front, getting a load of his navigational shit, tuned in to him with his Vasco da Gama on. I listen to the twigs and the leaves beneath me, cracking, breaking. I listen to my heart as he puts a protective arm around her. And all three of them, the twigs, the leaves, and the drum in my chest... they all sound more or less the same right now.

_Crunch_. _Crunch_. _Crunch_.

Breaking.

It isn't that long until we start seeing stars in the distance, amongst the tree leaves. It's lovely. Like a night sky coming down to shake hands with the forest. It gives you this ethereal feeling. Like you went up to space yourself and took some trees with you. And here are the stars, shedding soft lights that are just really easy on the eyes, spreading warmth like little radiators.

Forgive me for going a bit whimsical but yeah, I find this… Delightful. Magical. Dreamy. You know, shit like that... that gives you goosebumps.

Because now you feel like all these impossible, magnificent things that you thought were out of reach, they're fucking close enough to touch right now. Like, right here.

But Emily. She's two, three metres away from me.

It isn't supposed to feel that fucking far.

When we draw closer we find out that they're actually red, green, and yellow star-shaped lanterns hanging from tree branches. We're nearing Ruth Byatt's estate, Freddie informs us.

"And this must be one of her installations," he reckons, looking up and rubbing his lip with his thumb in that scruffy way of his.

"It's marvellous," Emily replies, eyes to the illuminated treetops, sounding so awe-struck that it might just have turned me on a little.

I stare at her hard. _Look at me, look at me_, I chant silently, obsessively.

She does. But I'm only granted the most fleeting of seconds because she then looks away before I can even come up with a thought.

This indifference from her. It's just so...

BANG!

And the empty tin can I just kicked with my boot is soaring through knee-high air.

Frustrating. So fucking frustrating.

* * *

When we arrive, we find instant relief in the fact that we didn't stand out that much because everyone else is dressed like they're going to a David Bowie concert in the seventies. So this is what the latest art scene wanks off to then?

The room's smoky, a mix of dry ice and cigarettes. Everyone's holding at least one tool of substance abuse. Cigars and cigarettes creating a familiar tobacco-smelling mist that beckons me to light up as well.

The chin-strokers and the head-tilters, armed with their wineglasses greedily filled to the brim and their bite-sized cheese, look quite bored about the whole thing that's supposedly an event of great interest to them. I mean, even the Queen's guards are more expressive than this sorry lot!

Art critics. Big fakes who spend more time contemplating on their life than actually living it.

Another thing I notice is this new trend they're sporting. Apparently, neck exposure is a big no-no so they've got enough turtlenecks and metallic-threaded scarves tossed over their shoulders to keep a third world country warm.

Oh, God.

This is slowly going to drive me insane. I can feel it. I dunno about you, but seeing these pretentious art wankers in their prime makes me want to go out and blow up a truck or something wild and violent like that.

Our only consolation really, is that our bourgeois get-ups don't attract any unwanted attention. We just want to see Cook. Causing a scene during his mum's art exhibit isn't on our 'to do' list so it's a good thing that among the glamour art royalty, we're as good as invisible.

Music starts playing. Something you'd hear from a sci-fi movie trailer. The crowd quiets, turns their heads to the front of the big room where a spotlight shines on this woman. Her red hair's in a complicated up-do, topping a face forged out of pride and self satisfaction. She's got little chandeliers hanging from her ears. She's wearing shiny red Lycra all over and she's in black stiletto heels. The woman's a fucking vision, really.

That's Ruth Byatt, I guess. The woman who mothered James Cook.

And I don't know what kind of effect she was going for. As for me, all I can think of is Britney Spears in that "Oops, I Did It Again" video.

Then the track comes to an abrupt stop. She gives the audience an oddly curt nod before speaking. "My brothers and sisters, we're gathered here today to witness the majesty of my latest collection. This is art at its most raw. Art that wasn't thought of, just felt..."

Various shit has to take turns being _au courant_, or _passé _or a _chef d'oeuvre _in Ruth Byatt's magical world of Art. She's using too many French words for her own good. Panda and Thomas must be having a fucking field day.

And it gets pretty intense… pretty rubbish, I mean. She sounds so fake, it almost kind of hurts.

Out of nowhere, a little boy flings himself at Freddie's leg. "Freddie!" he hisses, just enough to show his excitement, just enough to not be a disturbance.

"Happy Birthday!" he says into Freddie's jeans.

"You remembered," Freddie says, clearly moved. His giant frame bends over the little kid to pat him on the head.

The boy pulls away but lets his fingers stay and grasp at Freddie's trousers. "Actually, Cook wouldn't shut up about it. That's why I remembered. He really hates that he couldn't come to your party. Stupid house arrest," the kid grumbles.

Freddie shakes his head, nor minding at all. "That's alright, Pads. He couldn't come, so the party's come to him," he says, smiling to match the boy's all-tooth grin.

"Where is he anyway?" JJ asks.

"He's behind that curtain, actually, since he's part of the exhibit. They're still going to reveal him when Mum's done with her speech so we can't come to him right now."

"What do you mean 'part of the exhibit'?" Freddie goes.

"Mum's walking conceptual installation or somethin'. Alex suggested it."

"Who's Alex?"

"Mum's wrestling partner. They like practicing their techniques at night. Quite noisy."

Oh.

So Cook's mum is an old slag, then? Thought so.

"C'mon, Freddie! We have to drop this deal. Let's do Rock Band instead!" The boy starts dragging Freddie with a strength that could've only been generated by childish eagerness.

Freddie just smiles his surrender, shrugs his shoulders and lets himself be lead by the young boy.

By this little Cook.

* * *

"That's Patrick. Do call him Paddy, though."

I nod at Freddie as he points his beer bottle in Paddy's direction. Cook's mini-me is armed with this little guitar controller, playing Rock Band with his PlayStation 3.

"Cook's little brother?"

Freddie nods, says, "bingo," before taking another lazy sip. Watching as Paddy is hitting all the notes, timing his presses to the coloured bars on screen. I look at how effortless he is at it, and then I look at the TV, how all the colours are moving fast. I'd be shit at that, I decide. And here is this ten, twelve year old kid who's giving my eye-hand coordination a run for its fucking money.

Right. Doing absolute wonders to my ego, this.

Paddy's playing quite the host, ordering a butler-esque person by the name of Manford to provide Ruth's special recreation room with food. And not the high-end shit that they're serving outside. Paddy wanted pizza, ice cream and tons of grape-flavoured pop. Twenty minutes later, dear Manford brought in the goods.

So yeah, I'm in a room full of video game music, my mates, a bite-sized version of Cook, twelve pizza cartons, six cases of soda and like... three tubs of ice cream. Paddy was even considerate enough to get us beer. He even made Manford nick some of his Mum's expensive cigars for us. Talk about top-notch.

Cook's taught him well, I guess. I mean... this kid's _educated_.

* * *

So our little party is going in such a swing. Paddy's already beaten everyone at guitar "Score Duels" on Rock Band with the sole exception of JJ who's actually quite good at it.

Effy and Panda are at the miniature drum set, each with a stick in hand. With the strategy of 'divide and conquer' in mind, they've agreed to split the work. Effy works with the left side and Panda is on the right, taking the extra responsibility of working the bass drum pedal. They're doing quite badly but that doesn't stop them from having a gigantic laugh.

Thomas mans the mic, plays as the vocalist. The lad has pipes of an angel so his sterling performance isn't that much of a shock.

Paddy's given way so that Emily could try the toy guitar. She's doing a decent job while Katie's with Paddy at the snack table, helping him whip up a strawberry ice cream float with the grape soda.

I'm sat in between JJ and Freddie on a couch, puffing on a cigar like some really bad-ass motherfucker in mafia movies. JJ's been babbling on about how the answers to today's crossword came to him in a dream while Freddie's been staring at Effy non-stop. I would've told him he was being pathetic but I'm doing the same thing, just with Emily, and I figure I really have no right to say that to Freds.

When we see Cook for the first time in days we're all too excited and preoccupied in the moment to recall that the fact that he's not supposed to be here just yet.

So Cook walks in, and what I notice immediately is that this is the only time ever that I've seen him with a pair of sunglasses on. They are obviously his mother's and he's wearing them even though a) he's _inside_ the house, b) it's half past nine in the evening and c) they're fucking _lady_ shades.

Freddie sniggers. "Where's the sun, Cook?"

Cook's head snaps toward Freddie so lightning quick that you could almost hear the crack of the small motion.

"Why, there's the sun, Frederick! Fuck you!" Cook bursts out and points at the lone fluorescent fixture illuminating the room.

A silence falls over the place. They paused Rock Band, Panda shuts up, the crickets stop chirping and Manford... well, Manford was already quiet to begin with.

But then Cook takes his glasses off. His eye is bruised and he's got a nasty cut on his brow. We've heard that the coppers were pretty foul on him but the wounds don't seem to toy with his spirits. He cracks a big grin.

Cook's not really serious. So the room erupts in laughter.

"Fredster!" Cook shouts, obviously ecstatic. "Happy Birthday, my boy!" he hollers, crushing Freddie with a hug.

"Look at you," Cook says, stepping back, admiring Freddie's birthday outfit. The K-Pop getup Karen made Freddie wear has Cook's eyebrows up to his brown fringe.

Freddie looks embarrassed, also steps back to take a look at Cook himself. Counters with a, "No, mate, look at _you._"

Well, besides the sunglasses what you don't see Cook in everyday is a three- pieceensemble. If you didn't know Cook and you caught him walking the streets in this monkey suit, you could safely assume that he was one of those well-respected, up themselves wankers who actually pay attention to whatever shit's going down in the stock market.

And that's not even close to what he really is.

"I feel like a proper bastard in this," he says, before wriggling around in it and loosening his tie.

Emily chooses to commend him for this and says, "Looking sharp, though, Cook."

He turns to her and looks oh-so-very touched and he puts an arm around her. "Believe me, Emilio. This suit doesn't do justice to what's underneath it," he says, pointing at his willy and Emily just shakes her head at him and starts laughing.

You know what? I love Cook too much to be bothered enough to rip his off balls for hitting on my girlfriend.

No matter how much I hated this injustice.

So we all crowd over Cook and engage in a huge, cheesy hug-fest.

"Come together, right now, over me," he sings, paying homage to The Beatles.

Funny how it is. How time can also dissolve stereotypes and first impressions. Back then, to me, everyone else was just shallow and mindless. People who didn't give a real fuck about the world. No one really worth knowing. I didn't realise how sad I used to be. I've gone for so long, alone with my ideals.

Now, I can't imagine life without these people. They're my mates. They're now people with faces I won't ever forget.

Cook's eyes are watery. He pulls his arms tighter around the mass of bodies so we all fall in closer. And I think, yeah. Just yeah.

Our own Breakfast Club of fits and misfits, more than happy to be back with our own Bender.

* * *

"Whoa, Jay! When did you get so good?" Panda says, absolutely flustered.

"Practise. All there is to it," JJ answers, focus still intact. He's racking up an insane amount of combo points and it's only one fucking song.

Cook's sitting on an armchair with Paddy on his lap. He takes the cigar out of his mouth to say, "Yeah, JJ's got a ukulele. Practises every single night."

A ukulele, huh? Well, that's fucking smart.

Paddy's frowning about something and soon he's off Cook's lap and running to where JJ is. Cook turns to us with a warm smile on his face. "Paddy's a bit threatened, you see. JJ's stealing the Rock Band crown from him."

Freddie and I watch Paddy as he crosses the front of the television screen over and over again, wrecking JJ's records. Well, that's awfully mature.

Cook and Freddie are laughing at his antics. I join in because it's one of those rare moments where JJ is the one being annoyed, not the one being annoying.

When Cook stops to catch his breath I ask about his role in this rather indulgent art exhibit. "What exactly are you supposed to be in all this, Cook?"

"'Bout what?" he says, obviously feigning ignorance. He crosses his legs at the knee. I notice his ankle monitor. Reminds me he's a prisoner here.

I roll my eyes at him. "Your mum's show, you twat."

"Mum's new cockatoo wanted me put on. Thought I'd make a great installation or whatever. 'The Beast Has Been Tamed'. That's what they call my piece," he says, clasping his hands together behind his head before leaning back grandly on the easy chair.

"They're putting my life's story on the placard. Prodigal son shit, innit? Dressing me up nice to contradict my criminal capabilities. She'd kick me out if I didn't do what she said. I step out of line again..." he gives a low, ominous whistle, "...back to the slammer."

And you know what they always say when you speak of the devil...

That devil will fucking come.

So, just seconds after talking behind her back, Ruth Byatt comes charging in, looking mighty furious about something. Her eyes are wicked and fixed on Cook. Major shit is about to go down. That, I'm fucking certain of.

"What the bleeding fuck is this?" she screams. She gives the room a cursory inspection. She sees all the junk food, she sees her cigars in other people's mouths. Her eyes grow huge, like they'd pop out any second.

"You worthless sack of shit," she says, rounding on him thunderously.

Cook winces.

"I told you," Ruth starts, shaking angrily. "I _fucking _told you. That if you so even as scratched your arse, it'd be jail for you, Mister."

"Whose idea was it to put me on last? I've fuckin' waited three hours in the same position. You didn't even care to give me some chow. Why, thanks for the special treatment, Ruth. Might as well have left me there to die."

"So what? I feed you better in here than they would've in prison! You get your old room, a nice bed, all the food you want. And you even get to drink the milk out of the carton every fucking morning!" she enumerates, painting us all a picture of what Cook's been doing in this house for the past two weeks. "Your stay here isn't a fucking right, it's a privilege! What do you get in prison, Jimmy? Tell me, what the fuck do they give you dogs in prison?"

Cook's jaw tenses. Doesn't say anything. Maintains his defiant glare.

"That's right, Jimmy. You don't get _shit_ there at all. And those are my Cuban cigars."

He crushes his out with the ashtray on the side table next to his chair.

"Now, fix your slimy self up and get back in there," she orders menacingly, pointing a commanding finger to the door.

It's like it doesn't make enough sense for him. Cook could be so dense sometimes. I almost wanted to carry him out there myself. Just as long as Ruth doesn't get any angrier than she already is. "But I've got company," he reasons anyway.

"Yes. And you and your band of no-good hooligans just cost me 90,000 quid. I put diamond-studded furniture in your fucking installation! You could've at least stayed put until I had you revealed! I've got an audience from twenty art magazines! There are three writers out there about to make a book about my work. Don't make any more of a fool of me, boy."

"Not my problem, Ruth. You blow off all your cash on diamonds, that's your deal. And have you heard of cubic zirconium? That shit would've been cheaper."

"Don't play smart with me, Jimmy. Now get back in there."

"I'm not leaving them," Cook says, stubbornly.

"And why the fuck not?"

"They're my friends." Cook says, undoubtedly loaded amidst the simplicity in the manner with which it was said.

Ruth flashes her teeth. They're gritted together venomously. She bounds up to Cook and then has his ear ferociously clamped in between her thumb and forefinger. As if she's going to rip it off if she pulls any harder. With Ruth's iron grip, Cook's up in a beat, face scrunched up in pain.

"It was a mistake bringing you back here. You're an infection! Because of you, everything's gone to shit!" She starts hitting him on the head, on the face, on the neck. Everywhere with an open palm.

You could hear the hard smack-thud every time she hit her mark. We're all on our feet now. Up in shock, not really knowing what to do to put an end to this.

Ruth keeps at it with every whack. "You fucking moron! You fucking bastard! This is why you have no business being alive!"

Cook is crouched over a bit, taking it all in like a man. Like he's used to this. Like it's something that used to happen all the time.

It has to stop. It has to fucking stop right now.

And what no one counted on was Katie coming out of nowhere and shoving Ruth off with all the might of a lioness. "Child abuse in front of ten witnesses isn't that wise, Mrs. Byatt. You can't do that to him. He's your son," she says with this rage.

"And who the fuck are you?" Ruth says, scrambling back up.

"I'm more of a mother to him than you'll ever be," Katie says, meaning it.

Ruth's face twitches ever so slightly and for a second you'd think she'd stay calm and handle Katie like any sensible adult would. But that doesn't seem to be the case. The maniacal look in her eyes shows just how close she is to losing her shit.

She makes a move for Katie, the _click click click_ of her stilettos gathering speed and a collective sense of dread in the room, telling us, "Ruth Byatt is a bomb. She's about to go off in any second."

The way Ruth raises her arm is just too fucking alarming and I don't know how it happens but the next moment I'm the Berlin Wall in the flesh, keeping Katie and Ruth apart.

I regret it immediately though. I caught Ruth's wrist in mid-swing seconds before and now I'm struggling to keep it still to prevent any more damage. And I'm there, shaking and rather fucking terrified because for anyone's mother, she's bizarrely strong.

I should have remembered that people have two hands. Two, fucking hands, Naomi. And what's really shite is that I only thought of it _after _Ruth blindsided me with a slap to the face using that ever-present yet uncontained _other hand._

My head whips to the side and at the same time, I hear the sharp crack of her palm colliding with my cheek. My eyes snap shut and it's black for a moment. And when I finally make sense of what I'm supposed to feel... that's when I see red.

Thoughts are exploding in my head before I can properly think them and it all builds up to this whole Vesuvius of fucking anger and equal measures of hot and sinister. And what's really sad is that I just stand there, clutching my face the way you'd suck on a papercut, deluding yourself into believing that you had magical healing powers or something. That the sting and burn will go away soon.

But it still burns. Still stings. And I wonder if this is what it'd be like if someone tried knocking you out with a hot frying pan.

It's fucking unbelievable. My own mother doesn't even hit me.

I close my eyes tighter. I will them not to fucking water. I don't want to fucking cry here. It's only then when I recognise the emotional pain and humiliation.

When I straighten up, I look around and everyone is just as mindfucked as I am. I catch Emily looking at me. The concern is so evident in her eyes. Amidst all the shit that's happening I'm actually a bit cheered up that she's momentarily forgotten about our Cold War.

I want her to come to me.

But she doesn't though. Instead, he turns and makes for Ruth, like an angry flare. Emily rushes toward her and says, almost insanely, "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Ruth takes the sight of Emily in. She's confused. She looks at Katie. And then back at Emily. And her jaw drops. Her mouth quivers, like she's about to say something but before she can get anything out, we all hear a mobile ring. It rings another time before a flash of recognition sets in her features. She's got enough manners to take out her phone and answer it.

"Hello?" A pause, for the introduction at the other end and then, "Oh, Mr. Pratt! How thoughtful of you to check up on me. Oh, the exhibit's doing swell! It's really..."

Emily sucks in a breath, insulted. "Right, you're just _so _respectful, aren't you, Ruth?"

Ruth looks the other way and just holds her index finger up to Emily in a dismissive, "I'll be with you in a minute" fashion, talking to Mr. Pratt the whole while.

Oh, no fucking way. She can't do that to my girl. Fuck her.

Then there's this waiter who walks into the room and he doesn't know shit about what's going on so he's clueless enough to ask Ruth if she cares for an hors d'oeuvre.

And when Ruth starts reaching out for one, Emily lets out a gasp of disbelief. Apparently, she won't stand for this shit anymore so with a "hey! I'm fucking talking to you!" at Ruth, Emily flings the tray of hors-fucking- d'oeuvres out of the waiter's hand, making it rain pieces of bruschetta.

And this is what starts the fall of an empire. This is what starts the food fight.

* * *

**A/N: **Wow, you're done! I know reading this takes up a lot of time so I'm really5x thankful that you chose to stick with it despite the colossal lengths. But anyway, we've made it up to here and we're approaching the last leg! Soon enough story's going to have to come to a conclusion. Pumped, excited? You should be! So you better be there on Christmas Day!

I'd like to thank vangoghgurrl and FrineItandehui again because they were just absolute dears answering my questions about dogs. I mentioned it here so as to not spoil that part of the story for the others. XD

So, I ask you all, would you like to leave milk and cookies for me? Even though I should be on the Naughty List for making you all wait for this for too long? In the meantime, it'd be wonderful for you to tell me how you found part 1. Thoughts please. Give love (reviews) this Christmas Day. :)

Love you all, Happy Holidays!

**NEXT:** Madness! All sorts of madness! It's THE FINAL COUNTDOWN. You dare not miss it.


	11. Chapter 11: We're Escaping It

**Title**: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur  
**Author**: interpol..ice  
**Fandom**: Skins – Second Generation  
**Pairing**: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch  
**Rating**: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)  
**Summary**: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight.  
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]  
**Author's Notes**:

Again, I'd like to thank the lovely **flister. **Without her, I would've forgotten the essence of this story. Additional thanks and notes will be found at the end.

And check this out...

**THIS STORY'S FIRST EVER DISCLAIMER: **Skins and all the wonderful things that have sprouted from it belong to E4, Bryan Elsey and Jamie Brittain. I don't own much. Just this story. _Baby Girl, I'm A Blur_ is almost done borrowing the Gen2 characters and the author is eternally grateful.

Whatever, Happy New Year everyone! Here's to more SKINS, more amazing stories, fanfiction, and to more amazing people in this fandom. Gen3 and the Yankee gang, I mean you too! Here's to 2011. :)

**EXPECT:** A complete MESS! Dirt, hurt and looking up skirts! Will Naomi win Emily back? Of course she will! This is NAOMILY! So the question isn't of will or won't but of _how_! How will our heroine steal back the heart of her red-haired maiden? How will this story end? Oh, the anticipation!

* * *

**Baby Girl, I'm a Blur**

_**by interpol..ice**_

**Chapter 10: (We're on a Sinking Ship) We're Escaping It**

* * *

= = = ** **NAOMI **** = = =

Our goal is to rip this place apart. No mercy will be shown. Absolutely nothing is to be spared. After us, Ruth Byatt will be beyond ruin.

So we all start tearing through the crowd, towards the buffet table. When we get there, we grab anything we can. You fucking name it, we've got it. Everything the catering services offered is now at our disposal. Every block of the food pyramid is well-represented for this war.

At first, people tried to stop us. They didn't want the mess, you know? It doesn't take a while for the first splash of sauce to tarnish their pristine outfits so they give in and join the riot to get back at the evil fuck who so dared spill tomato paste on them.

Seconds later, you've got spring rolls and scotch eggs thrown in the air like grenades. Garlic sticks arch and hit backsides and shoulders like spears. Soup shots are being emptied over heads. Cold meats are flying around, sticking themselves onto cheeks, onto people's hair. Breaded prawns are hanging off of people's ears. Fucking hilarious shit, really.

Some people are positioned by the chocolate fountain with matzo balls. When they're not stealing bites they'd be occasionally dipping their hands in and flicking out puddles-worth of chocolate at a sorry random passerby.

And I find out that it hurts like a bitch when you get hit by a wave of baked potatoes.

I turn around, to the wankers who threw them at me. They're looking like right pricks with goatees and skinny jeans and their glittery make-up. Such nancy shits. I gather up what's left of the meatloaf before mouthing a 'fuck you' at them and aim my meat missile, looking to cause some serious harm.

Well, those artistic bastards could eat _this_.

Then fire.

* * *

Thirty minutes of this sends the entire mansion to smoke. I'm shocked that the cops aren't here yet. You wouldn't recognise things anymore because they're either toppled over into new, incomprehensible positions or they're covered in a slurry of food.

Ruth is in the middle of the culinary chaos, trying to put a stop to it. It's to no avail, of course. Her once-complicated, once-neat hairstyle now looks like a wig that was put on backwards. The Lycra suit she's wearing is torn in at least four places. She's crying as she's holding back this woman's arm from emptying a bottle of wine over a mural. When she doesn't succeed at that, and the dark red liquid stains over the paints, Ruth wails, dives deeper into the crowd.

I almost lose her but then she emerges a second later with company, a skinny, blond man, a decade or two younger than she is. She's pulling him out desperately by the lapels of his jacket.

"I'm ruined, Alex!" she says tragically. "You've gotta get me the fuck out of here!"

So they make their hurried exit, unnoticed by the rest of the crowd.

All I can think is: Good. Fucking. Riddance.

* * *

What's fun about food fights is that you can take a bite out of whatever you're going to use as your next weapon. That and no one really dies in one.

Once people start setting fire to cocktails and throwing them, I take what I just said back. I realise that it can actually be dangerous in here. The only reassurance I have that this entire place isn't going to go down in flames is that Panda mentioned earlier that she was 'totally going to try the fire extinguisher'.

I look for Emily in the throng of people. And I panic when I can't see her anywhere. Where the fuck is she? I circle the room with my eyes six more times before setting off on a frantic, one-woman search party.

So I'm here, dodging noodles and fucking salmon eggs until I get to the sodding kitchen. Freddie and Effy are here, stocking up on ammo. Freddie's busy, though. Busy taking care of this heavyset but short little bloke who's got this mindless look about him.

I push past a couple of people before I get to Effy. She's leaning her skinny frame against the refrigerator doors. Some might think she's posing this way just for aesthetic purposes. A seasoned friend, on the other hand, would know very well that this is Effy being her usual clever self, guarding the armoury.

"All right, Eff?"

She smirks her answer. Nods contentedly then looks sideways, at Freddie. This is the only time I notice Freddie's big hands. You don't think shit like this is possible but here's Freddie, totally capable of prodding his finger condescendingly into this smaller wanker's chest while clutching an _entire loaf_ of bread with the same hand.

Now that's what I call a reprimand.

"Tosser felt me up, so he gets _Freddie's bread_," Effy explains, finding all this absolutely amusing (which it really is, by the way). We chance a look at Freddie and his unusual way of dealing with vermin and being the girls we are, we start giggling.

"All right, Naomi?" Effy finally remembers to ask back, just a bit after the laughter's died.

"Yeah," I say, casting my gaze to the side, answering absently. "Actually—"

"Campbell!"

It's Katie. She's just entered the scene.

"Where's my sister?" she demands like she's about to give me hell.

"I was about to ask Effy the same thing," I say before Katie and I turn to Effy expectantly.

Effy makes a face, shrugs her shoulders. We then hear a _thonk _and whip our heads to the sound just in time to see that poor molesting sod fall to the floor. From the looks of it, Freddie's just headbutted him.

After that, Freddie just very dashingly steps over body to join the three of us. "So sorry you had to see that, ladies," he says while taking his mobile out. His eyes quickly fly over what I can only guess is a text message. His eyebrows knit together slightly so he reads the text again. "She's with Cook," he announces, seems confused about it as well.

"What do you mean 'she's with Cook'?" Katie goes angrily as she snatches Freddie's mobile to read the text herself. "Oh, this is just fucking great!"

Katie shoves Freddie's mobile in my face, making me read it too.

**:: MINI BAR N BSEMNT WD EMILIO. CUM DWN 4 BDAY TREET! ::**

Katie hands Freddie back his phone. "I'm going to get her," she declares.

"I'm coming with you," I pipe in quickly, catching up with her.

Katie spins around abruptly, stops me in my tracks. Then just gives me this _look _that suddenly makes me feel very stupid.

"Of course you are, you silly cow. You're her girlfriend."

* * *

On our way to the basement we have to pass through the exhibition room. It's in an even worse state than it was before. There are bodies strewn about, unconscious in their tight-bright costumes. The chandelier that used to light up the entire area has dropped and is partly submerged into the hardwood floor. A couple of men are still at it, they're letting off their frustrations or whatever it is that testosterone's making them do.

Someone has switched the music and turned the volume up so at the moment, people are ironically wreaking havoc to the glorious melody of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy".

"Mental. Completely mental," Katie mutters.

"Cheers," I say in turn.

There are tiny fire disasters here and there but it's a good thing Panda's keeping her promise about the fire extinguisher. JJ and Thomas are helping her go round, carrying the big red thing for her until it's time for her to actually use it.

They stop to wave at us and we wave back. Then Katie and I get creamed by two plates of banoffee pie a second later, for letting our guard down for the briefest of moments in this on-going food battle.

We wipe our faces clean (in vain, may I add) to find Panda, Thomas and JJ looking apologetically at us.

"Well, Katie and I should be going now," I say, putting my hands on Katie's turbulent shoulders. I need to get her out of here before she goes after those ladies dressed in electrical tape who so generously gave us a taste of their dessert.

As Katie and I walk away I glance behind me and tell the other three, "Promise us we all won't die in a fire later, yeah?"

Panda nods eagerly, positively exuberant that her work's being given recognition. Just within earshot, she yells and I'm glad I'm still able to catch it.

"Aye, Cap'n Campbell!"

* * *

Emily's a complete mess when Katie and I reach the basement. She's up on the countertop, spliff sparked and ready, dancing to a tune inside her head and Cook's down there, doing a fabulous job of multi-tasking (looking up my girlfriend's skirt whilst his hand's clamped around a squeeze trigger of a hose attached to a keg underneath, aiming beer into his mouth ). Behind him stands a fancy-looking glass back bar with neon lights installed inside of it so that it makes the many glasses and bottles set upon it shine in this heavenly sort of way. For a second there, it's making this very scandalous scene deceptively angelic.

Katie shakes her head at the sight. "Get her down," she orders me with a low voice.

I walk up to the bar, unsure of how to go about this. "Emily," I call, softly tugging at the hem of her skirt. I succeed in attracting her attention and now she's peering down at me. She smiles at me and I'm so relieved that she's too hammered to remember that she hates me so I happily return that smile with one of my own.

"Awww, babe. I knew you'd come for me," she says. "Come for me," she says again, before being hit by a giggly-hiccup. "You like that, don't you? Coming for me."

Oh, dear Lord...

"Alright, ladies! Lezz levels are up!" Cook says, cackling.

Even though I want to smack him silly, I determinedly ignore Cook and tug harder on Emily's dress. "Come down, Ems," I beg.

What I didn't count on was her toppling right over me. Nope, never saw it coming. We land painfully onto the ground. Cook cackles even harder and Katie just _has_ to join in. I shoot Katie a glare because I like, really appreciate the way she _isn't _helping at all.

"Mind giving us a hand?"

Katie comes to my rescue and I have to give props to her because she's got Emily off of me in a flash. "Get up. Get up, you clumsy thing," she says to her sister.

I grab the spliff Emily dropped (it fell a small distance away from us) and I push myself off the floor.

Emily's unsteady in Katie's hold and I dunno what to make of it. It's either she's trying to break free of Katie or she's trying to dance with her. Emily's quite confusing when she's drunk. Eventually Katie lets go and resumes control, tries to pull down and flatten out Emily's dress.

"Oh, Emsy," Katie sighs, taking out a handkerchief to rub at the many chocolate stains scattered across Emily's top before coming to her senses and giving up at that altogether. Emily's hair is coated in what appears to be icing and her make-up's smudged. Like I said, she's a complete mess.

Then, out of nowhere, Emily tackles me, starts necking me. And behind her I can see Katie stare at her twin sadly, like Emily's written in Swedish. Katie turns to Cook, looking really cross. "What the fuck, _exactly_, have you done with her?"

Even as Emily's leading the both of us towards the coach, I listen hard for Cook's answer. If I find out he's touched her anywhere he wasn't supposed to...

"I dunno, okay? Found her hiding in the pisser. She was upset about—" Cook stops abruptly, eyes flicking toward me but quickly shifting them back to Katie. He doesn't want to give me away... Because I know that it's me she's been upset about. "Something," Cook finally says, "she was down so I figured she could use some spirits to like... lift her spirits."

"Haha, fucking clever," Katie goes, not amused in the slightest. "What you poison her with, anyway?" Katie says, walking over to the bar, her gaze fixed on the half-empty bottles on the countertop.

"Relax. Just some Gatorade," Cook answers, holding his hands up to gesture his innocence which Katie replies to with a doubtful glare.

"Okay, and I may have given her a tiny bit o' rum," Cook finally admits.

Katie grabs one of the bottles, reads the label aloud, "Bacardi 151?" then drops it back on the surface with a loud thud. "Bacardi 151 is synonymous with 'shitfaced before you know it'! And you give this to Emily, of all people?"

A quick glance in our direction and Katie catches me pinned to the couch by Emily who has her hand bunching up my skirt and her face shoved rather ridiculously against my tits.

So much for being wholesome, Emily.

"You see that, you massive wanker?" she says, turning back to Cook with her point proven. "She's raping Naomi right in front of us!"

Emily still has her face pressed against my chest and she's mumbling into it loudly. "Naomi. Naaaaoooomi, get to know me..." she says, slightly muffled. Then it's as if she got shot with a bolt of energy because she then throws her head back and with a voice that commentators use she shouts, "Presenting Naomi Campbell! Future woman Prime Minister!"

Then she makes a little show of cupping her hands around her mouth. She starts moving her head from side to side, making those 'ahhhhh, ahhh' sounds that you get from rowdy, excited crowds. She suddenly stills. Looks at me through lazy, half-lidded eyes. "Oh, Naomi! Don't go, I'm horny…"

"Oh, well on her," Katie says. "Still has enough brain cells to rhyme."

At that, Emily flings into my cleavage again and just nuzzles herself deeper into it, mumbling my name over and over. So it feels fucking awesome and everything but when I lift my stare to meet Katie's and then Cook's, I suddenly feel enough embarrassment for the both of us.

"I do admit," Cook says to Katie, eyeing me and Emily with a satisfied grin on his face, "she's really off her tittie witties and I'm sorry 'bout that but I was just trying to cheer her up."

"Off her tits?" Katie says, pitchy and in utter disbelief. "She's clinically retarded, you tosser!"

They shift their attention back to us and they find the situation not getting any better. Emily has me buried into the couch, still going, "Naomi, Naomi, Naomi," into my chest that she now thinks is a wishing well or something. It's downright mental, honestly. So I try to parry Emily's hands out of my skirt and beg her to tone it down a notch.

"Jesus," Katie breathes and marches up to us. She grabs hold of Emily and has her up in a second. "Do I have to do everything?" Katie grumbles, keeping her twin steady but that still doesn't stop Emily from occasionally breaking free and dropping to her knees anyway.

But when Emily reaches the very bottom, meaning she's gotten on her knees _and _hands, she starts crawling her way back to the couch. And let me add that she does this with a really wasted face but the most determined eyes. She's making her way back to me, I realise.

Katie realises it too and makes a sound of frustration. With a _very audible_ sigh she commands my attention and says, "Fine, sort her out, will you?"

So I get off the couch and kneel, meet Emily halfway on the floor. I gather her up and back onto her feet.

"God, you silly cow!" Katie says about Emily and for me, a "Clean her up and make sure she doesn't get molested while she sleeps. And that doesn't exclude you, Naomi."

"I wasn't going to do anything, you know," I snap back at Katie as I sling Emily's arm around my neck.

Oh, just listen to me lie...

"Whatever, just... take care of her, yeah?"

At that, I can only grin.

"Always have, always will, Kates."

"Oy, Naomikins!" Cook calls, leaving his place behind the bar to walk over to me, shot glass in one hand and a set of keys in the other.

"This is for you," he says, handing me the glass with the electric blue liquid in it. "And this is for the Missus." He winks at me before he drops the keys into the pocket of my cardigan.

"It's the one marked _S.P._," he tells me, strangely excited about this.

"_S.P._?" I repeat, confused.

Cook is looking mighty devious about it. He tilts in closer, possibly with the intention of leaving Katie out of the exchange.

"Stands for 'Shag Pad', you lucky girl."

He leans back to his old posture, back to his normal voice. "Last time I checked it had a pretty sweet set-up. Bathroom, fireplace, telly, books, exotic animals in cages..."

"The whole shebang, huh?" I say, trying not to sound so impressed.

"Only the best for my favourite lesbians," Cook says with an insufferable wink.

"Fuck you," I say through a laugh.

"What the fuck? Cook, don't _encourage_ them," Katie whines, coming up from behind to smack him softly in the back of his head.

Cook turns to his side, finding Katie there. "Aww, princess. How 'bout I take that frown outta town?" He dashes back to the bar and loads each hand with a shot glass filled with the blue mix.

"Katie, m'lady!" He raises the shot glass on the left. "Can I interest you with a taste of my cocktail?" Cook says, pausing emphatically between the _cock_ and the _tail_. He takes small and careful steps until he stops in front of her and presents his alcoholic treat with the most ridiculous smile.

"Piss off, Cook," she says, and then bursts out laughing a while later anyway. She takes the shot glass from him.

"Yeah, you want me," Cook says in this soft, joking way.

And when Katie stops giggling and gets this red tinge on her cheeks, he might just actually be right.

"All right, ladies?" Cook says, holding up his shot glass. He gets a nod from me and Katie (and he could've gotten one from Emily too, if she weren't so arseholed) and finally goes, "Cheers then!"

We tip our heads back and let the rum and Gatorade burn our throats and fuck us over with all the extra electrolytes.

* * *

It's kind of silly when I walk in the Shag Pad, Emily leaning against me, hopeless as fuck, to find that there aren't any caged exotic animals in the vicinity. Despite the moon and open windows being my only source of light, the absence of the creatures is evident and it erases any prospective chance I had of accusing Ruth Byatt for Animal Abuse so I can't help but be mildly disappointed.

I kick the door close behind me and feel for the light switch with my free hand. I flick it and then it's like I'm looking through the room with a red photo filter.

So it looks like Ruth is into the same sexual gimmicks that Alvie Singer was in _Annie Hall_. You know sex... to each person, her own. Annie Hall needed her grass. Alvie Singer needed his erotic artifact a.k.a. that cheeky red light bulb. Don't tell me you don't know about that shit. It's Woody Allen, for fuck's sake.

I scan the room and it has everything (except the fucking zoo) Cook promised. You've got the TV, the fireplace, a bookcase(it's not like she has any titles of interest anyway), and there's even a door over there that probably leads to the bathroom. They're all here, all bathed in a blood-coloured light.

"Well, this is kinky," I mutter to myself. Hell, if my generation wasn't so into digital photography I could even develop a photo here.

"All I see is red," Emily notes, to my surprise. Letting me know just how tuned in she is despite her drunk disposition.

"Now you know how I feel," I say.

Because every time I close my eyes, it's her I see. Emily and pretty pretty please with the cherry (red hair) on top.

* * *

The bed, for one, is the richest piece of woodwork I've ever laid eyes on. Then you've got the TV. It's one of those super-sleek, super-wide 50-inch flat screens. The fireplace is obviously electronic. And there's this universal remote that controls it and the entire home entertainment system. I've got nothing to compare it to or anything, but this is a really nice Shag Pad. This must've cost a tiny fortune. What an investment, Ruth. Should I applaud you now?

But back to the bed, it's there looking so pristine and welcoming with its whiter than white sheets. I feel like we'd violate its sanctity but jumping in without a second thought, our dirty clothes still on.

Yeah, I hate Ruth. But I'm sleeping in that bed as well tonight. Me and Emily practically dressed up in every sort of food crumb. Logically, that would attract all sorts of unwanted visitors and I don't want to be sleeping with fucking ants, you know. That's bestiality. And that's illegal.

(Oh fuck, this is the rum talking. I just know it.)

So I have Emily sit on the wooden chair beside the dressing table while I check out the bathroom. Just as I suspected, it's decadent as fuck. The towels and bathrobes are all monogrammed with a golden 'R.B.' and if that isn't enough the tub is made entirely out of marble. Fucking _marble._

Not wanting to prolong Emily's filthiness, I run the bath with warm water, even go as far as using one of Ruth's bath oils (from Madagascar). Surprisingly, I'm in the mood for all that fancy shit.

I take off my cardigan and let it hang off the rack on the door and return to Emily outside. She smiles dumbly when she sees me again. Yeah, really pissed. Quite entertained by the way she is right now, I proceed to help her up and take her to the bathroom.

Back there, it smells seductively of vanilla. Emily breathes in deeply, obviously satisfied with my choice of bath oil. I almost want to high five myself for it.

It's weird taking off her clothes this time. One of the rare instances that I don't do it with an insane urgency. I untie her messy dress and help her wiggle out of it, mindful to keep her balanced at the same time. She holds her arms up, ready for the next bit so I curl my fingers around the hem of her tee and lift it up until it awkwardly gets blocked by her breasts. So now her t-shirt's stuck and it's covered her face and her arms are still up because the stretched out shirt keeps them fixed there.

She looks so idiotic right now, really. I'm snickering as I pull her shirt up with a stronger tug and voila, it's finally off. Emily pops out and is revealed once again, looking dazed and shaken up and she's just the cutest thing ever, all disoriented like this.

I flip the toilet seat down and make her sit on it. She kicks off her flats so I could pull off her leggings. I watch in amazement as black spandex turns into my favourite shade of pale and skin. Fuck. Her legs make it impossible for me to keep a clean mind.

She lifts one of them up and just fucking glides her calf over my cheek and I think, "Oh, fuck yeah," and relish the feeling for the quickest of moments before grabbing hold of her leg and gently putting it back down.

When I look back at her she has this naughty smirk on her face. Fucking tease.

Her tights are off and now she's down to her essentials. I pull her to her feet again and for a bit there, we just look at each other. She's starting to sweat, her cheeks are flushed, she's breathing heavily and her eyes are fluttering shut like this is a _fucking_ Japanese porn cartoon.

And this isn't fucking fair, this. No, not at all.

I reach around her slowly, unclasp her bra like I've done hundreds of times before. I drop down and pull her knickers down to her ankles in one quick motion. As fast as I was going down, I'm even faster as I get up again, trusting Emily to step out of her knickers herself.

Well, she's just as perfect and glorious as she is, naked. Emily's still the sexiest little thing, firm and perky in all the perfect places. And it's a right fucking miracle that I still have my sanity, yeah? So I take advantage of this possibly short-lived control and wrap her arm around my neck again to guide her to the tub. Clean her up, as promised.

_Make sure she doesn't get molested._

Don't get me wrong. I want to respect Katie's wishes and everything, but when her sister is looking _this _good...

Well, I don't know if I can hold out for much longer.

* * *

The bathroom amplifies all the little sounds. I can hear the sponge being squeezed, water trickling, splashing against the tub as she moves. Her breathing is nervous and uneven and even that, I can hear.

She's surprisingly cooperative, for someone who's had too much to drink.

But washing her up in this state is still actually the hardest thing ever because she's watching me do it with this childish passivity. Like she's an alien going through it for the first time. Her eyes following my hands wherever they go, as if they were the most fascinating things.

I'm almost desperate for a rubber ducky to relieve the tension.

The steam has built up and now I'm sweating. It's getting too hot in here so I get up and turn around to shed myself of my suffocating clothes until I'm down to my bra and knickers. I turn around and found out that Emily has been watching.

She looks expectant. Like she thinks I'm going in there with her. I don't, of course, and her disappointment grows the longer I keep myself where I am, kneeling beside the tub, cupping up handfuls of warm water and pouring it over her head, trying to melt away all that icing in her hair.

Emily catches my eye. And for a while we're just staring at each other. Emily's waiting for me to _do something_, all with this blank but devastatingly beautiful look about her.

I turn away, try to focus on the feet she's got propped on the other side of the tub. She wiggles her toes and it's cute. It's cute. It's safe. And it's moments like this, you know. She doesn't do it on purpose but she makes this big, big love inside of me sing. Nothing sexual to it or anything but somehow it's still as intense.

Her toenails are a rich, plum colour. Reminds me that ever since we got together she'd always do her nails on my bed. I was anal about it for a while, (Nail varnish all over my duvet? No, thanks) but she hasn't made a mess so far and it eventually became okay.

The thing is...

I can't disturb her while she waits for her nails to dry. No snogging, no feeling her up, no touching. Nothing. So we end up talking about whatever, as long as it wasn't suggestive or capable of getting us all hot and excited (which considerably narrowed down our list of topics). She goes on about Disney princesses, I make faces and shamefully admit I'm not familiar with them (Mum wasn't so keen on television back then). We talk of childhood classics. She tells me how Saint-Exupéry's _The Little Prince_ will always have to be on a shelf wherever she'll have to live and I tell her about that one time Shel Silverstein's _The Giving Tree _almost made me cry. And sometimes we even go as far as letting each other know how limited our knowledge of _Star Trek_ is.

So much memories, just by looking at her toes.

I think of Emily and how, amongst other things, she's also my best friend.

* * *

As predicted, Ruth Byatt's bathrobes are two sizes too big for Emily. But Emily's so endearing in it, drooping down tiredly with its extra weight. The bath softened her up so she looks less angry now. More relaxed but still a little out of it.

I haul her over by the bed, let her lean against me as I throw the covers open with my other hand. Seeing her opening, Emily plops down with all the grace of a slapstick character.

Well, that was sexy.

I cover her up, trying to hold back a laugh because she's resorted to making distressed woodland creature sounds again. Oh, Christ. She hasn't been this off her tits in like... forever.

I pat the comforter down and just when I think she's all snug inside of it, she whips her hand out and grabs my wrist so fast that it almost scares me.

"Babe, I want you so, so bad right now…" she says.

And the pure want in her voice? Fuck, fuck, fuck. How can I possibly say no to that?

But bloody hell, she's drunk as shit... and it just wouldn't be right. Katie demanded a little respect so...

Oh, fuck _me_.

I just kiss her. And I tell myself, as our tongues are slipping and sliding and feeling so fucking wonderful against another, that I'm keeping it at this. But we get into it. Like, _really_ into it.

And like a Godsend of sorts, something stops me from going on. Ever since our slip at Aunt Elizabeth's I had acquired this fear that every rich person's house is infested with hidden cameras. So I pull away.

She's confused when I don't dive back in again. It wasn't just a break to catch my breath. Emily pouts and I don't understand why my self-restraint, although absolutely shaken to its core, is still up and running.

I cup her face in a hand. "You get some sleep, okay?"

She groans. I kiss her so she stops making that disappointed sound.

Then I leave her again. For a very, very, _very _cold shower.

* * *

I was hoping she'd be asleep by the time I come out but no, Emily's still very much awake and waiting (in the standard Emily waiting position of hands clasped together and resting on top of a stomach).

"Took you a while," she says, like she's stoned.

"I was dirty. Too _dirty_," I answer, meaning my mind more than the rest of me (which, I should remind you, used to be covered in all kinds of icky food). I tip-toe over to the side panel and adjust the thermostat. It's too cold in here.

So I get in there with her, into a place of guaranteed warmth.

* * *

We're propped on our sides, up on our elbows, heads in a hand, just examining the other. We haven't said a word ever since I got in and the silence has grown into this awful monster that's begging me to slay it.

"Why wouldn't you speak to me? You know, earlier?" I finally hear myself say.

Emily's mouth twitches. She has just successfully hid back a smirk, very satisfied about not being the one who raised the white flag first. She actually savours those rare moments when the forever righteous Naomi Campbell swallows her pride.

"Speaking isn't your thing, remember? Else you'd have _spoken_ to me about certain important things," she says in this mild, biting tone.

I flinch inwardly. We're going to have a row. We're going to have a fucking row. I can feel it.

So imagine my surprise when Emily starts singing. She breaks into this adorably bad falsetto, just belting out her favourite Weezer song.

"I'm a lot like you, so please... hello! I'm here... I'm waiting! I think I'd be good for you and you'd be good for me. Oh, how stupid is it? I can't talk about it, I've gotta sing about it and make a record of my heart..."

I join in, answer back with another stanza of the same song. After all, it's my favourite from Weezer as well.

"But you won't talk, won't look, won't think of me. I'm the epitome of Public Enemy. Why you wanna go and do me like that?" I croon, pausing before the last line.

I sneak a hand into her open bathrobe and let my fingers graze over her bare shoulder. She's so smooth and warm and lovely. She's being all the reasons to sing, "Come down on the street and dance with me."

And then...

There it is. A smile. A little morsel or assurance. "Stop it," she says, her eyes twinkling happily.

"Stop what?"

"Stop making me stop being mad at you."

I have to play that back a couple of times in my head before it makes any sense to me. She could use a little coherence.

"You're drunk."

"You're going to Oxford."

She shrugs my hand off of her shoulder. I can't explain how that small action gutted all the good vibes inside of me. I open my mouth to speak. But it's futile because, once again, I've got nothing good to say.

Emily's disappointed in me all over again. Gone are her smiles and happy eyes.

"Right. Like I said, you can't talk shit," she says, sitting up in a huff, distressing the state of the bed covers.

I get up in alarm, accidentally hitting my backside against the headboard in the process. "Emily..." I try.

She lashes out in quick, angry bursts. "Katie knew before I did. My _Mum_ knew before I did. And I'm your fucking girlfriend, Naomi! What the fuck?"

Emily stares at me hard, her shoulders heaving from exertion. She's looking for any explanation. For the truth.

"I told Effy," I finally admit.

"Why did you tell Effy? Is she suddenly more important than me? Do want to fuck her in secret or some—?"

"Because!" I interrupt forcefully because now she's just being mental. "I wanted to fucking tell someone! What's so fucking wrong with that?"

She starts crying. And oh, how I fucking loathe myself right now that it has come to this. I can't stand it when her cheeks get wet.

"Oh, Naomi. You had to tell someone because you were _so_ happy about it." She wipes at her eyes fiercely, clearly frustrated about crying. "And it just hurts, you know... because I found out by mistake. Because you would have never shared how happy it made you with me."

"Em..." I say, voice cracking horribly. I don't know what to say. I just want to reach out for her.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

And it's like my hand caught fucking fire.

"I don't fucking get it," she says in between sobs. "Why couldn't you have told me yourself?" Her eyes are all puffy and red and wet and just so bloody _hurt_. And I feel like absolute scum, if you must know.

I will out the words. Even though they shame me. "Because... if I told you, you'd make me go."

"And that's what I think," Emily replies immediately. "You should go. You can't put off something as... _prestigious_ as Oxford."

Prestigious. She just said prestigious.

"See? This is what I mean. Now you're saying I should go," I snap back, feeling the pressure build up in the tiny spaces in my brain.

"And what's so wrong with that?" Emily demands, crossing her arms.

"I think you know very well what's wrong with that."

And she does. Her face falls. She's sucking her lips back in and her eyes are pooling up again.

"But it's stupid—it's so fucking selfish..." she says, all worked up.

"Emily, it's not like that," I plead. I don't want her feeling worse. I inch closer, rub her back gently to cry and calm her down.

"I mean, before me. Before we got together, you had your whole life laid out. You have so fucking much going for you... You could be great. You could be someone, you know? Oh, God, I feel like I've... Jesus, why'd you let me fuck it up for you?"

"Emily, don't—"

"No, Naomi," she cuts in, whipping her head to the side to look me in the eye. "I _know _you want things," she whispers. Quietly. Desperately.

It overwhelms me. All these things she's saying. I almost wish I could unhear them. But I can't, so I try thinking it over. Our rights, our wrongs, flashing across her eyes. I can't really tell the difference anymore. All they have in common is that they're _ours._ Mine and Emily's.

And more importantly, Emily's mine.

My lips are against her ear, almost kissing the words into it. "Don't you get it, Em? I've got you. I've got _you_. I want so many things... But that's all temporary. I fucking know that when I wake up the next day, it's still you I'd want. Do you understand, Emily? I need you, and I've got you now. I've got _you_."

And oh, I'm crying already. No surprises there. Say hello to the thespian.

She looks away and her fringe covers her eyes. She kicks her legs out and off the bed, about to get up completely. "I feel like I'm holding you back."

Something in me constricts painfully when I hear that. I scramble up behind her and pull her into my arms, desperate to show her how wrong she is. Her back is flush against my chest and we just fucking fit together like everything else in this world that makes sense.

"No, Emily... Not when you're the only one who's holding me up."

We're so close that I can feel it when her breath hitches.

I pull her robe down so that it falls to her waist, then tenderly gather her hair up and let it all rest on one side. And I take a moment to admire her neck, her shoulder, her creamy skin. I don't understand. How you can see the same thing everyday and still be amazed by it just as much as the first time you saw it.

I press a kiss onto her shoulder and my mouth tastes her all the way to her neck. Emily starts humming and I feel all my muscles below tighten in a way that's all too hot and familiar.

"Don't ever say that, yeah?" I say, holding her closer. I bury my face into the angle of her neck and inhale Emily and vanilla. And it's delicious. Just like everything else about her is.

"Because, Emily... My life was shit before you came along. I love you. I love you _so much._" And I'm just speaking and kissing whatever I could at the same time.

She trembles each time my lips land on her skin and I'm fucking sorry, Katie, but I am getting it _on_ tonight.

I'm caught completely off-guard when Emily reaches behind her, hand finding my stomach without the slightest difficulty. And I know where this is going, pretty excited about it myself. Her hand is impatient, shoving itself into my knickers, nimble fingers finding my heat in seconds.

Emily begins moving her digits and it feels so good that I return the favour by grabbing her tits and then just let my hands squeeze and let my body touch hers wherever it can. Wherever there's an opening, I hurry inside. And the sounds we make then are absolutely filthy. And I'm shuddering and oh, God...

I want it so much. So fucking much.

But no, I can't. I'm the one who's been holding back a part of myself. It's time for me to make up for it. I grab her wrist and she freezes. After a little coaxing, she reluctantly lets me pull her hand out of my underwear.

"Let me," I say, hoping my voice is low, gentle and hypnotic enough.

She turns around, making her surrender more evident by the second. I capture her lips and that's all it takes for our bodies to move like clockwork together.

I flip her over and drag her to the center of the bed. I take a moment to observe how the red lighting makes our shadows seem more sinister and seductive on the wall. Fucking hot, that.

Then going back to the task at hand, I unbelt her bathrobe at the waist and slice it open, revealing its lovely insides: the most gorgeous girl in the world.

I push her down onto the bed and poise above her on all fours, thigh lodged in between her legs. I do it a bit too forcefully so now the bed's jiggling and my arms are buckling unsteadily. I laugh a little, considering that wasn't sexy _at all_.

But then Emily's here, looking so very serious. I see the fear in her eyes and I'm thinking this is Emily, the bravest girl I know and I'm not used to finding it in the honey liquid of her irises.

And there's something so different about now that it's scaring the shit out of me. It's so clear. I need us to be together. And it reflects in her eyes.

Does eyes, like a Disney princess's, stare back at me. They show me all I need to see. That Emily trusts me with her life. That Emily, despite the fear, trusts me to stay. My fingers skate around her face and those Disney eyes flutter shut at my touch. This. I wouldn't give this up for the fucking world.

The air is heavy with an intoxicating heat. It spurs on my hungry descent. My lips trail and touch breasts, nipples, ribcages, a belly button, and then teasingly at thighs until I finally do it.

And fuck, is she wet.

I go down on her. Start doing things that make the sweat sink down her thighs. Make her feel so weak and so good that she almost can't take it anymore (it's in the way that she clamps her legs together around my head). It's an art, really. I think of a brush, lapping up paint around a blank canvas. Everything's wet, and repetitive. The change in direction, the length of the strokes. My tongue blending my spit and her juice, painting pleasure onto Emily.

Painting orbits of planets and satellites going round and round her scorching centers. And her moans and screams tell me she's out there in a place where there the stars are too bright to see and right about to explode.

Her hand's in my hair. Some of it is trapped in a fist shut out of pleasure. A painful yank signals her climax and I try to ignore how hard she's pulling at my hair as I lick softer to help her ride down the waves.

I place kisses on her thighs, rub at her legs, wait until her breathing evens out again. And when it does, I come back up to her lips and kiss her properly. Pray that she'll always remember how I made her feel tonight.

She hooks her arms around my neck, brings me so much closer, giving a better arena for our tongues to battle it out. I've got a hand on her hip and I move it over her arse. I grab a cheek and push her against me roughly to which Emily responds to with a delighted squeak.

My hand roams again, until my fingers hover teasingly over coarse hair. Soon enough, the naughty little things find her clit and Emily hisses at the contact. "Oh, fuck. Please," she groans, her hips raised and titled for more.

Christ, it's ridiculously slippery in between my legs. I'm so fucking wet. She's so hot for me sometimes that I can't bear it. I move my fingers faster, picking up the speed of her breathing before plunging one, two fingers inside of her.

The whimpers and the pants don't qualify as words but they tell me something anyway by picking up in number. You can call it a sexual statistic, I call it the record I have to beat the next time.

My thumb works on her clit while my fingers curl and feel inside of her. And judging by the way Emily's writhing below me, it's driving her to the absolute edge. She's crumbling beneath me, hips bucking to meet the thrusts of my fingers. My hand's sore but this is just so fucking worth it.

I want her whispering in my ear. I want to know what she wants. What she needs.

And now she's telling me my name.

She tells me again.

And again.

And again.

She's pink all over and her chest is rising and falling emphatically. The air is even hotter and denser around us. The red lights are all over the room but I ignore them and everything they stand for.

I can't stop this. It's inevitable.

_Take it_, I think.

I'm making the angles more extreme, reach inside her like I've never done before. She cries. Drags her nails across my back. That's going to hurt tomorrow, most definitely. But I can't possibly care about that right now, can I?

I kiss her harder. Catch her screams and swallow, feeding off of their energy somehow. Now, the only thing I can hear is our laboured breathing and our lips being inseparable.

My thumb cranks up the speed. It's just mad ruthless against her clit. I think of whirlpools at sea. Fast, spinning currents. Round and round. Round and round. Like Emily's patterned gasping.

Take it, Emily. Because this is everything I've got.

* * *

One of things I enjoy the most is crawling back up to her after she comes. Her fringe would be plastered to her forehead, a hot mess. Red tendrils running like blood fire along her pale skin. I love how my fingers collect the perspiration when I let them run just above her brow. They'll gather her hair. Slowly. Carefully. Then it's fingers grazing an ear and fingers nowhere near a cunt but Emily's shivering again anyway.

It's like going down on her but better. Better because I can see her face as I'm touching her. See just how I drive her crazy. Her hair swept out of her eyes, with dry and careful fingers (as opposed to what they were minutes before: wet and rampant).

Disney doe eyes fluttering shut. Gets me every fucking time.

"Let's not say anything," Emily says without actually saying anything.

And it finally sinks in. How your heart sometimes understands better than your head ever could have.

* * *

_No matter where I go or whore my mind, I'll always stumble home and pray I'll find you  
With your flame-throw eyes and jilted smile so you can soothe my wounds and drain my bile_

- Say Anything with "Baby Girl, I'm a Blur"

* * *

In the morning, the place looks even more like a shithole. People are scattered about, on the floor, on furniture, in various states of undress and unconsciousness. All the food has dried up and every room in the house is a different mix of foul smells.

It looks like the art buffoons made a pretty interesting quilt out of all their metallic scarves and now it's hanging on one of the walls, gaying up the scene like no tomorrow.

Random appliances have obviously been mishandled and are now showing their wires and steaming circuitry. Beethoven keeps streaming out of a busted-looking speaker that still miraculously functions. It baffles me how everyone is sleeping through the loud music. It's _Ludwig van_ for Christ's sake.

But anyway...

We did a pretty good job with the home-destruction thing, if you ask me. Ruth's never going to recover from this.

Emily takes my hand and together, in our cottony soft Ruth Byatt bathrobes, we survey the rest of the wreckage.

* * *

Ten minutes into our exploration we happen upon what seems to be Ruth's studio. It's got all sorts of unfinished sculptures, paintings and blueprints strewn around and you can't exactly make heads or tails out of it. We sift through her work and give one-lined opinions on them. Try our hands at being art critics.

There's one painting of an English flag with huge black 'X' marks slashed over its resplendence. I find it slightly offensive, really but I go ahead and give it my two cents. England's so _passé_," I say, trying to embody Ruth, earning a chuckle from Emily.

We eventually move to the center, where there's actually free space on the floor for your feet to move. And there at the middle stands an easel mounted with a blank canvas. Upon closer inspection, it isn't actually blank. Yes, it's white all over but Ruth painted one word in all caps, smack dab in the middle.

**ME**

Emily and I just stand there for a bit and take the painting in. I have to hand it to Ruth. This one's pretty thought-provoking and shit.

"She likes fucking herself, obviously. See, that has 'wank' all over it," I say, waving a finger around the entire canvas, starting my bogus explanation with a seeming confidence. "She's made a unique use of the minimalist style and... We're shit at this. Aren't we?" I say, turning to Emily with a stupid, c'mon-agree-with-me grin.

"Shut up, I'm doing just fine," Emily says, rolling her eyes at me before gently pushing me aside to center herself in front of the canvas. She continues on, to prove her point. "It shows loneliness. Isolation. Or perhaps, a selfishness? Because she only thinks of herself and no one else."

Why's she making so much sense? That isn't fair.

"Ems? We're supposed to interpret them wrong _on purpose._"

"Oh, c'mon. I think this one's decent enough," Emily defends, nose scrunched up at me in disfavour.

I pick up a brush and dip it in some black paint. "I think Cook's mum is a self-important cunt," I say before unceremoniously doing a Jackson Pollock on the painting.

Emily gasps beside me and I turn to her to find her kind of horrified.

"What?" I say.

"Well, I actually liked that piece," she replies, slightly flabbergasted.

Based on her very eloquent critique earlier, I take it she's telling the truth. So I get a great, floating-lightbulb-over-head idea. I flash Emily a wicked smile. "Know how you'll like it even more?" I say, waggling my eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

She smirks back despite herself. "Is that still possible even though you've already, like, ruined it? Rather tastelessly, if I do say so myself."

I let off a mock indignant snort. "Of course it is."

"Oh? How then?"

I take the brush in my hand, poise it carefully below the 'ME' and swirl a plus sign and a 'YOU' onto the canvas. Figured, "fuck it, might as well," then add in an equals sign and an infinity sign for good measure.

When I turn back to her she has this pleased little _oh, shucks_ smile on.

Emily bites her lip and she's got a blush building up. It never gets old, to be completely honest. All those other times she says it? It's no different from this one as she tells me, "Yeah, I know."

* * *

"Let's add tiny portraits of ourselves," I declare grandly, wanting to enhance our artistic collaboration with Ruth Byatt and going along at it with what little I already know.

And then my dear Emily, my voice of reason, asks me, "Are you on drugs?"

"Yes, I guess. Consider me intoxicated by the mere presence of you," I try, because that's how Edward Cullen sparkles and gets the girl.

Emily giggles and shakes her head at me because admittedly I was little of my rocker just now. Right, so that pick-up line only works for vampires then.

Before I know it, Emily's already making her way outside the studio. I know that line was bad, but not _that _bad, you know? Bad enough for her to leave.

I call after her. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

She turns around, mischief lacing her features. "I'm hungry. I was thinking we make a colour swatch," she says, deviously.

* * *

Is it just me? Or did that not make any sort of sense at all?

So, it eventually makes much more sense when she grabs me by the hand and rushes the both of us to the kitchen. What I immediately notice about the kitchen is how colourful it is with its myriad of ingredients literally all over the place. Now I understand the 'swatch' part.

Eager to show Emily how I've connected the dots, I grab hold of a bright red lobster. It's already dead and cooked, of course. Do you think I'd even touch it if it were still alive? Great, I'm glad we're on the same page.

I wave the poor little critter at Emily. "For your hair," I explain, trying to suppress a laugh.

Emily looks back, very entertained about it. After which, she scans around herself until her gaze finally rests on an entire cheese platter. She holds it up for me to see better.

"For _your _hair," she returns, before balancing the platter on one hand and gingerly snatching a piece of cheddar and popping it in between her parted lips.

We stagger around the kitchen for a while, searching for other things we could make good use of, sniggering and tripping over each other all the while.

I manage to reach the counter and there it is, the missing piece. I call Emily over excitedly and she stumbles in beside me, the chimney of her miniature cheese cottage toppling over at the turbulence.

"Condiments," Emily says in this funny, exaggerated awe.

"_Condiments_," I say once more, with just as much reverence.

Feeling very much accomplished, I reach for the mustard bottle and hand it over to Emily. I stick with ketchup red.

There, sorted.

* * *

"Forget what I said about the portraits," I say to her, throwing our initial plan out the window because when you really think about it, it's so much easier to not screw up a drawing of a lobster.

I can feel the focus in my face as I outline the crustacean with the ketchup on my fingertip. Furrowed brows and my tongue sneaking out and sticking to my upper lip (I dunno why it does that, really) prompt Emily to erupt into a fit of gigglesnorts. What I'm doing is insanely hilarious, yeah... but what Emily finds even more hilarious is that I'm doing it with an unbelievable amount of concentration.

If that were any other girl, one I wasn't so deeply in love with, she would've gotten ketchup to the face. But she's Emily Fitch. And she should be aware of how lucky she is that I give her a free pass whenever she makes fun of me.

After I'm done with the lobster, I reckon I could put in caption of sorts. I reload my finger with more ketchup and I write the first thing I can think of.

**You are my Lobster**

I step back and assess my handi—err, fingerwork. Then I look back at the real lobster in my hand. Is it a splitting image? Not exactly, but... Ace job anyway, Campbell!

"Oh, I'm definitely taking this home..." I say, turning to Emily and not expecting her cheeks to be bulging like that. And by 'like that' I mean 'like a blowfish'. I think she just ate her entire cheese cottage.

"Oi! You're eating our colour swatch!" I say, suddenly inexplicably upset.

Emily, although looking very guilty with her wide eyes and her puffed cheeks looks rather precious and adorable as well.

"Wow," I say, poking her stuffed cheek. "You sure love your cheese." I nick a tiny chunk or two of it off the platter and shove it into my mouth clumsily. I wink at her when we get identically bulge-y.

She rolls her eyes at me as she swallows. "Well," she says after clearing her throat, "I love you more."

"Than cheese?" I ask hopefully, mouth still full.

"More than cheese," she says, giving into a smile. And then, after thinking it over for a bit, she adds:

"More than anything, really."

* * *

I read once, (actually, many, many times because I practically memorise it) in _This Realm of England_, that...

_"There's nothing quite as satisfying as a good, clean substantial fact. It can be cherished and recorded, memorised and scrutinised, dropped casually in the middle of a conversation, or used with impressive effect to begin or destroy an argument."_

I remember on that first day of college when Keiran asked us to stand up, say our names, and a unique fact about ourselves. Well, if I could have another go at it now, I'd answer differently. Because here I am, with a truth I've never been so sure of in my life.

"I'm Naomi. And there's this girl I know... she makes my heart beat all kinds of speeds. I'm going to marry her some day."

Here I am, in my kitchen. With that girl (who's never had a boyfriend). There's a painting mounted somewhere. It used to be Ruth Byatt's. It's ours now. Ours.

Mum has taken out her old James Taylor records. She always used to play them when I was still a little girl. They've been on all week and I've got no complaints. The afterglow they bring is actually welcome and I'm quite happy about this, pleasantly reliving old memories with this soundtrack while being excited about making new ones with Emily in the same timeframe. And I think I know just the perfect James Taylor song.

_=  
Oh, Mexico…  
It sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low  
Moon's so bright like to light up the night  
Make everything all right_

_Oh, Mexico…  
I never really been but I'd sure like to go  
Oh, Mexico  
I guess I'll have to go now  
=_

I sing along because I know the words. I'm terribly out of key, yes. But the way Emily laughs is out of fondness and she's still so wonderful (despite being dressed as a Mexican man). I tip my sombrero back and she does the same with hers. I kiss her. And our moustaches tickle each other's noses.

And trying to explain this, like, _really_ explain this, is a lost cause. What I do know, though, is that I can't wait for the rest of my life to be like this.

"I love you, Emily Fitch. Forever."

**_- fin -_**

* * *

**::THIS SPACE IS RESERVED FOR A BIG THANK YOU NOTE TO ALL THE LOVELY PEOPLE ON THIS SITE. I'M STILL WORKING ON IT.::**

**A/N: **And so, it ends. I have to admit, I had a little freak-out. Letting this go was a big thing since it's the first multi-chaptered story I've stuck through. And here it is, it's done and I can't touch it again.

I've gotta admit, I put a lot of my heart and head in this and it'd be great to know how you felt or what you think about it (as a chapter and as an entire story). I'm up for all sorts of thoughts and criticisms. I'm even willing to send over PDFs, if you're into that fanciness. ;)

So, shoot, my bbs. Shoot. Review, review! ;)

As for my next appearance? Well, I'm working on a couple of stuff. Slowly but steadily, you know (of course you guys know, I make you wait two months for updates!)? I've got another novel-length fic for you but it probably won't be out until a couple of months. In the meantime, I'll come up with some one-shots. I'll make sure you guys won't miss me. XD

It's been a long journey. I'm so happy to have walked you through it. Thank you so much, reader. You're as dear as an old friend to me. :)

**- interpol..ice xx**


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